


Take Flight

by blackchaps



Series: Hawkeye and the Furball [1]
Category: Alpha and Omega - Patricia Briggs, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Mercy Thompson Series - Patricia Briggs
Genre: AU, Canon-Typical Violence, Ghosts, M/M, Native American Character(s), POV First Person, Pining, Shapeshifting, Skinwalker, Spirits, Werewolves, horse, switching POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-20 14:52:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 46
Words: 50,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3654468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackchaps/pseuds/blackchaps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Werewolves kill Barney, sending Clint's life spiraling downwards. Clint avenges his brother, setting off a sequence of events that ends up with Clint losing his job at the circus and on the run from what feels like every werewolf in the United States. They want him dead. Good luck with that, furballs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The last time I posted a story, a reader said my lack of chapters made reading a huge endeavor. Now, I've never written a story with distinct chapters, so I thought it might be fun. Here I go! Reading the Mercy Thompson series will help you understand some of the characters but really, this is Hawkeye's story, set before the Avengers and right after River Marked, where Mercy met Gordon Seeker.
> 
> All the usual disclaimers, no disrespect to Patricia Briggs. She is an entertaining writer, and I wanted to play in her universe.
> 
> This story started with this artwork: http://when-it-rains-it-snows.tumblr.com/post/108227946193/kate-has-loads-of-questions-where-was-this-how

*******  


My horse tossed her head, purple feather bobbing, as we came around the near side of the ring, and I shifted my balance on her broad rump to compensate, holding my arrow for one extra second while she settled. Betsy snorted, letting me know loud and clear that she wasn’t happy, but she kept her pace steady. I spotted them as the arrow flew to the target.  


Werewolves.  


Again.  


This was the third and final night of our performance on the outskirts of this po-dunk town, and they were trying to blend and failing miserably. Two men in suits with way too much testosterone and not enough brain cells. I was sick of it, them. Betsy was tired of it, too.  


The crowd clapped in appreciation, and I finished my act with an extra flourish and a toothy smile to the furballs watching me. If they were trying to intimidate me, they should give it up. Crossed arms, suits with guns, and sunglasses meant nothing. It was their teeth I had to watch out for, and I had plenty of practice at it. I was even good at it, not that I ever bragged, because that would be damn stupid.  


“Hawkeye, meeting after the show! Carson’s got news!”  


I waved to the acrobat and continued helping with the horses and storing away all the crap that comes with putting up and taking down a circus once a week. Fifteen more minutes and people would be leaving, and the circus would be packing it up to head to the next bumfuck town. I wasn’t too worried about the furballs. They wouldn’t try anything while the circus was still performing, too many people about, but tonight I might have to sleep with one eye open. Anyway, they were probably FBI, and saying no to them was dead easy.  


Motion out of the corner of my eye made me turn, and I was running before I considered if it was a good idea. I’d made a mistake, thinking they would wait. Horses neighed, and I ducked and rolled out of the tent, trying to get far enough away to make a plan.  


“Stop with the nonsense.”  


I nearly crashed into him. Big guy, patch over one eye, and a leather duster wrapped around a whole lot of werewolf. “Shit!”  


“Just stop.” He put his hands on his hips, waiting for me to get both feet solidly down. I brushed my hair out of my eyes and tried to look like I wasn’t worried, but I could tell this was no ordinary werewolf, probably old as the hills and canny. He’d be damn hard to kill.  


“What do you want?” I tried to sound tough, even belligerent, and I stared up into his… eye. The patch made it hard to know where to look. I’d never met a wolf with scars, and my guess was that this werewolf was a pack leader.  


“You. The Amazing Hawkeye, a.k.a. Clint Barton, a.k.a. World’s Greatest Marksman.” He stretched out his hand, looking mean as hell. “Nick Fury, Alpha of Shield.”  


“Crap.” I didn’t want to shake his hand. Werewolves enjoyed ripping arms off, so I tucked my hands behind my back. “No, thank you. Really. No. I like the circus. Ask the FBI or the CIA. I’m not for sale.”  


I had no idea who SHIELD was, but the way Fury said it meant capital letters, suits, sunglasses, and far too many werewolves, not much different from the FBI was my guess.  


“Carson is done. Out of money. You’re unemployed in about twenty minutes. Shield is looking for a few good men.”  


I’ll admit I wasn’t shocked. There had been no payday in a month, and people were threatening to leave. I couldn’t help but wonder if this werewolf had helped Carson’s along into bankruptcy.  


Then I saw them – his pack – slinking out of the shadows now, circling behind him. That was a quick dose of reality. “You want werewolves, and I’m not. Don’t let my tough face fool you.” I grinned in the way that always made people irritable. “So, I’m out of work. Big deal. I’ll get something. See ya later.” But I wasn’t dumb enough to try and get around him.  


Fury laughed, but it wasn’t a funny sound. “No, you won’t. Not that many circuses left, and none of them want a mouthy archer with a habit of finding trouble. Trust me. I did my homework.”  


He meant that he’d made some calls, and my career, such as it was, was over. I stared up at him, so angry I didn’t care for dropping my eyes. “Hey, fuck you.”  


“Clever.” Fury took a step, and his pack growled. “I need a sniper, a human one, and you fit the bill.”  


I had no trouble figuring out what he meant. My scent wouldn’t alarm werewolf bodyguards. Just one more harmless human when the wind shifted. “Ah, no.” I didn’t really consider it. “You see, that white horse in there? Betsy? She relies on me. Do you know what happens to old circus horses? Dog food, that’s what. Not that Betsy’s old, but she’s not young anymore.”  


“You’re hilarious.” Fury didn’t sound as if he ever laughed. He tucked his hands behind his back and threw a glare at his men to back them off a step. “My offer is the only one you’re going to get that doesn’t involve handcuffs and blackmail.”  


I believed him. I did. “Okay, I’ll think about it. Do you have a business card? With a number? Let me help old Carson get things straightened out, and then maybe I’ll give you a call.”  


Fury tilted his head, nostrils flaring. “Two weeks, and then I’m sending someone to pick you up. Deal?”  


“Sure. Bye, now.” I edged away, circled around him and his pack, and went back to the horses. I was so screwed. Betsy blew snot on me as I patted her nose to reassure her that the werewolves were leaving. Picking up a brush, I went over her again. It wasn’t that I hated werewolves or anything. I supposed they had their uses, like bodyguards and soldiers, but every time I turned around, one of them was trying to kill me. I had a few scars to prove it.  


Clint Barton was no werewolf lover. I knew them too well. I was human, and I had no desire to be anything else. If only Barney had felt the same way, he’d still be alive and maybe I’d have a few options other than running somewhere no one could find me. Like the moon. I sighed.  


“Hawkeye, meeting now.”  


I nodded and went to hear the bad news. Everything had been sold. Carson’s was closed for good. All that was left to me was my old Chevy truck with one mismatched door, my horse trailer, and Betsy. I also had a few hundred bucks, a crappy recurve, and a purple spandex outfit. Yeah, I was set for the future. At least I had a full tank of gas, maybe I could make it to Mexico.  


“Where are we again?” I asked the crowd in general.  


Even the bearded lady rolled her eyes. “We’ve been in Montana for days. Weeks!”  


“Oh, yeah. I knew that.” I did, sorta. It was hot and sorta flat, and in my defense, most of the United States fit that description. All those stupid square states did at least. “Cool.”  


Canada was totally doable. Two weeks was plenty of time to disappear. I just had to drive the right direction and keep going until I hit the North Pole.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note that I won't be doing chapter titles or summaries. Thinking in chapters was hard enough. Let's not push it.

**********

Seven days later, not that I was counting, I slammed the trailer door shut, locked it down, and trotted to my truck and the blessed air conditioning. It was leaning towards the end of summer, but hauling all the horses and their gear to their new owner’s trailers I had worked up a sweat. The circus was gone, mostly, and I’d done all I could to help Carson. Nearly everything had been sold, and I couldn’t remember when I’d slept last. So many people were grabbing things and running. I’d stopped some fool from loading Betsy with the other horses. It was a relief that they went to another circus, not the knackers. It was time for Betsy and me to hit the road, and I wished we’d have gotten away before noon.

Thanks to Carson I had plenty of hay and feed. Everyone agreed my trailer was nicer than my truck. Betsy deserved the best, and I’d invested enough money that there was a small living space in front. Just enough for a bunk and a few odds and end, but I didn’t need much room. When I got tired of sleeping small, I camped on the roof or slept in the tent with the horses.

The cool air felt good, and I took a moment to make sure I had everything. Flicking on the radio, I headed north and west out of Billings – or so the sign said – and I wasn’t looking back. I drove until I had to piss, finding a rest stop to get the job done. There were vending machines, and I stuffed a Snickers in my mouth while I got Betsy out to walk the kinks from her legs. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t drive straight through. Horses didn’t travel as well as people, but she had plenty of hay to munch and her legs were cool as I let her snatch mouthfuls of grass.

“You are very white.”

I startled, nearly choking, but Betsy didn’t even roll her eyes or toss her head. Swallowing hard, I eyed the old man – really old, but human – who had snuck up on me. “I match my horse, I guess.”

The Indian – Native American? – laughed, showing off a missing tooth. He was old as dirt and dressed like a pretend cowboy, down to the ugliest and most patriotic boots I’d ever seen. He grinned. “Not long ago, I died, and there was no reason to come back. No walkers to draw me back, and yet, I am here.”

Confusion seemed to be the best answer to that. “Dying is no fun.”

“Very true. How far will you go?”

“As far as I can,” I blurted, unsettled by the question. “You?”

His eyes were sharp, boring into me, and I returned his gaze, hoping he wasn’t some sort of crazy. He turned his back to me and took the step to pat Betsy on the shoulder. She slung her head around and nuzzled him. “Ah, the good old days.”

I supposed horses and Indians did go hand in hand. I ate the rest of my candy bar and didn’t feel the need to fill the silence. The wind picked up a little, swirling across the grass, and I hoped to get in at least four more hours before camping somewhere along the highway.

“Betsy, load,” I said, and she grabbed another swatch of grass before going. The lead rope was for show. She didn’t need it, and neither did I. By the time she was settled, I looked to say a polite goodbye to the Indian, but he was gone. I frowned and noticed there were no other cars at this rest stop, and I hadn’t heard one leave. “Maybe, I hallucinated him.”

It was possible. Werewolf induced panic could do crazy things to a person, and I was definitely on the run. I drove until the sun went down, and I probably should’ve kept going, but I’d make Canada tomorrow, and I was tired.

Luckily, I spotted a sign for a state park, and I took the turnoff, hoping horses were allowed. It was late enough that no rangers were about, so I paid the fee in the box and found a place near the facilities. A shower would be heaven. Betsy seemed to approve of my choice, immediately dropping a load of horse apples, and I cleaned those up before worrying about a fire. An hour later, I’d showered, started a fire, and was lounging in mostly clean clothes, wishing I had some hot dogs.

Betsy got a bucket of grain, and I grumbled about my peanut butter sandwich and lukewarm bottle of water.

“Ho, the fire.”

Once again, my mouth was full as the old Indian stepped into the firelight. I’d expected a ranger, but this left me dumbfounded. I was half a mind to grab my bow. I mumbled, “Are you following me? Are you with the government?”

“Yes.” The Indian patted Betsy on the rump before plunking himself down at the picnic table. “You looked after your horse first.”

“Of course.” I didn’t know what to think about this old guy. “Oh, Clint Barton, by the way.”

“I know who you are.” The Indian unscrewed the lid to the peanut butter and helped himself to a sandwich. I got him a bottle of water, and he nodded. “Your mother was my daughter. You are of my bloodline, and you are so very white. I must take comfort in your horse and bow.”

I stared at him, sure now that he was nuts. Rubbing my hand through my hair, I said, “I dye my hair to make it shine under the lights, but I’m Irish.” It wasn’t the brightest thing to say. I barely remembered my mother, as most of my young memories were of my father yelling and hitting anyone who went close.

The sandwich disappeared, and he drank the water. “Not on the inside.”

“Wait. How do you know about my bow?” I had a feeling I should be running far away.

“You’re the Amazing Hawkeye. Everyone in Montana knows of you. Even your name is Indian, but I am sorry for your father.”

“Yeah, me too.” I wasn’t sorry he was dead. “My mother was white.” But I didn’t sound sure. Barney had never said, and my image of her was fuzzy, blurred by time and violence. I’d loved her. I remembered that.

“No, she was mine. She married a white man, I lost track of her, and she did not ask for help.” The old man sighed and lowered his head. “After I came back, your circus came to the Northwest and I felt your blood pounding in my ears. I did not believe, at first, but there you sit.”

“Okay, this is weird.” I still wasn’t jumping in my truck and driving away though. I mean, sure, the old guy was crazy, but he was nice enough. “Well, gramps, I’m in a fine mess. No job, no prospects, and more werewolves than you can believe after me.”

“I believe.” He rose to his feet and moved around the fire, poking at it. “Some call me Gordon Seeker. You already have one of my gifts, and I suspect you carry the seed of the other.”

“I’m pretty sure I don’t carry any seeds.” I stretched my feet to the fire and wondered if he needed the bunk. I’d sleep out here if necessary. I yawned, unable to help myself. “You want the bunk? I’m headed out early tomorrow. You can ride along if you need to.”

“You would offer this to a stranger?” He looked up, eyes sharp.

“Betsy likes you.” I rubbed my face, needing sleep. “My brother Barney is dead.” I wasn’t sure why I said it, but he should know his other grandson was dead, if any of this were true.

Seeker looked up at the stars and then away. His words were hard to hear. “He wasn’t mine. Sleep, Hawkeye, I will watch over you this night.”

I should’ve run far away, but something about him made me shrug and nod. I opened the front door of the trailer, propped it open so I could enjoy the fire, and crashed on my bunk. In the morning, maybe things would make sense.

*********


	3. Chapter 3

**********

A stamp and a whinny brought me up out of bed, grabbing my bow without thinking. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, and the dew was heavy this morning. It was chilly, not cold, and I nocked an arrow, scanning, scanning.

“He stalks you.”

“Betsy, load.” I hurried, keeping the bow ready. “Get in or get out of the way, Gramps.”

“Head west, not north. He is expecting that.”

“West? But, Canada!” The back of my hair was standing straight up.

“You will not succeed in crossing. Go west.” The old man sounded so sure that it was spooky. I dived in the truck, thinking I’d have a traveling companion, but when I threw the truck into gear, the old man who claimed me as his blood was gone.

I didn’t look right or left, just driving, and I was careful not to speed as I headed back to the main highway. West? There weren’t even any main highways that went west, or any that I knew of, and I wished I’d gotten a GPS now. Years of following other vehicles had left me unprepared for running for my life.

There was no reason I should believe the old man, but I did. Technically, Fury had given me two weeks to get my affairs in order. In all honesty, it could’ve been another werewolf in that park, not one of Fury’s. Werewolves just seemed to hate me. That spot between my shoulder blades itched, and I wished my vehicle was a little less conspicuous. At the first opportunity, I bought some gas, needing more money, and stared at the map on the wall, memorizing the roads to Yakima, Washington.

I didn’t know why. It was west. I had a feeling. It’d probably end badly, but I was going. I’d expected the state to stay flat, but I encountered mountains that slowed me down and ate the gas. Hours behind the wheel, winding my way through Montana and into Idaho on back roads that could use their potholes repaired, gave me plenty of time to think. Working for and with werewolves would lead to a quick death, but that was marginally better than prison.

Arranging for a circus performer with a sketchy past and a dead brother to go to prison was easy as pie. Also, that trail of dead werewolves would eventually catch up to me. Some of them I hadn’t wanted to kill, but the ones in Chicago had deserved every silver-tipped arrow. The only solution I had was to take refuge at one government agency or the other and hope I didn’t die too soon. I had no illusions about catching a plane to an island somewhere. Anyway, what would happen to Betsy if I ducked out wasn’t worth considering. My stomach grumbled, and I ignored it to drive on for another hour.

I found a rest stop in Idaho and got out to stretch my legs and raid the peanut butter. There was an area for pets and I turned Betsy loose on the grass to munch away. Cars came and went, none of them suspicious, and I found a spot on top of a picnic table. The wind was in my face, the sun shined down, and I ate a sandwich that sorely needed jelly. I tried to be optimistic about my future, maybe I was over-reacting.

A hawk cried out over my head, and I followed its path. It circled, swooping, and it was a big one, could be an eagle. Betsy jerked her head high and whinnied, loud and long, stepping on the lead rope and popping off her halter. I wasn’t worried. It had quick release for that reason. Betsy stood with her head high for a long moment and then trotted over to the trailer and got inside. I got the message. Time to go. That horse had always been smarter than me.

I splurged on a pop from the vending machine and then scooped up the halter and lead rope, going to the back of the trailer. I refastened the Velcro, going to her head but stopping when I felt something odd. Back outside in the light, I twisted the halter and stared.

“Well, god damn.” I had made a mistake, leaving Betsy alone in the tent while I talked to Fury. I peeled the GPS tracking device off and wondered how many more were hidden between the trailer and the truck.

“Look, Mom! A horse!”

I smiled to reassure them, mind blank for a long moment. There was no way in hell I was going to make it that easy for them. They weren’t following me. They were watching to see where I went, and then they’d pick me up. SHIELD was obviously more competent than the FBI.

Betsy blew snot, and I put her halter back on her. “It wouldn’t kill you to be nice to the kid.”

A side-eye and a long sigh, and Betsy cocked her hoof. She was in no mood for kids today. I understood. “Be patient, old nag.” I was called Hawkeye for a reason, and I found four trackers, one in the hay, which just seemed dangerous. I hoped Betsy hadn’t already eaten one.

The trick with the trackers was to get them moving a direction I wasn’t going. If I destroyed them, alarms would go off somewhere. A semi-tractor trailer pulled in the rest stop, and I smiled. The driver hopped down, heading for the bathroom, and I went to admire his rig. From the sign on his door, he was heading to Vancouver, which was perfect. I wasted no time getting back to Betsy and on the road again once I'd hidden them on his trailer.

I drove until I couldn’t see straight and then found a Wal-Mart parking lot. Wal-Mart encouraged trailers to spend the night, rightfully assuming that they’d get business. I took care of my horse, ignored my dwindling supplies, and decided to sleep in the cab, bow and arrows close in case there was trouble.

*********


	4. Chapter 4

*********

Thanking the lady at the Quik Mart and shoving my change in my pocket, I wondered what the hell I’d been thinking when I started this ridiculous flight across state lines. No one escapes the government with a few hundred bucks to their name, and now I was in Washington with no options left. When SHIELD caught up to me – and they would – I’d have no choice but to go with them.

“My life sucks.” I was tempted to bang my head against the side of my truck. With a shrug, I checked Betsy before climbing in the cab. My jaw flapped open and stayed there at the sight of my passenger. “Go west? Go west?” I might’ve screeched. “This was a terrible idea!”

“You are almost there.” Seeker had one of my silver-tipped arrows in his hands. “Did you make this yourself?”

“Of course.” I sighed, leaned my forehead into the steering wheel and remembered that I’d never had a normal life. I wouldn’t know normal if it slapped me in the face. “Promise me you’ll look after Betsy when they take me away.”

Seeker made a humming noise that could’ve meant anything. He made a vague gesture that might’ve meant ‘go that way,’ and since I was an idiot, I went that direction. At this point, it didn’t matter much. The blacktop turned to dirt, and I slowed down to keep Betsy from being miserable. Twice more, I followed the directions of a crazy old man who claimed to be my grandfather. He didn’t say anything, and I wasn’t feeling chatty, so we drove in silence. The needle on the gas gauge was starting to lean against E when he said, “Slow and turn at the next right. There is a cattle guard so be careful with my horse.”

Anger welled up, but before I could start cursing, I had to hit the brakes and pay close attention or I was going to dump the trailer on its side. The road dipped down and then banked sharp to a cattle guard crossing. It was official. Betsy and I were in the boonies. I could practically hear banjos as we crept down what was nothing more than a cow path. I opened my mouth to give Seeker a piece of my mind, and he grinned at me.

“Stop that. I’m pissed at you!” I tried to glare into his grin. “And Betsy is mine!”

“Stop here.” Seeker opened his door and got out before I’d stopped completely. “It is best you meet him without me. I’ll be there for dinner.” He slammed the door, walked towards the back, and I just knew I was losing it. We were in the middle of a cow pasture. I saw actual cows in the distance. There was nowhere for him to go.

The truck idled, and I curled my hands around the steering wheel, squeezing. I suppose getting out and screaming at the sky wasn’t one of my finer moments, but I was having a bad week. I might’ve kicked the truck once or twice as well, and I might still be doing it, but a hawk screamed its way over, and I couldn’t help but stop and stare. I ran my hands through my greasy hair, got back in my truck, and sighed. I might as well see where this cow path led.

The instant I shifted into gear, the engine sputtered. “Aw, truck, no,” I said, and the truck petered out, deciding it had gone far enough on a tank of gas. “We’re gonna die,” I muttered. Turning the truck off, I got out, found my last bottle of lukewarm water and went to give it to Betsy. She seemed thrilled to get out in the hot sun, nudging her nose into my chest as I helped her drink the water. Getting my shirt soaking wet with water and slobber was a part of the process. I sighed, leaned my head into hers and whispered, “When did my life get out of control?”

She snorted, and I agreed that it was hard to pinpoint the exact moment. I retrieved my bow, put my quiver on my back and made sure it was secure. Betsy took the opportunity to have a glorious roll in the dirt, and I started walking up what was a slight ridge. There was no way to tell what was on the other side, and I crouched down to peek over it. Nothing but more pasture, heading to another ridge. The land dipped and rolled, and I got to my feet to ask for a ride. Luckily, Betsy wasn’t busy any longer. I tied the lead rope around her neck so it wouldn’t drag and hopped aboard. She set off down the track without urging. Maybe she smelled oats up ahead.

It was tempting to fire arrows at tiny targets as we strolled – Betsy was in no hurry – through knee deep grass, but I wanted to keep an arrow nocked, just in case. I did stand up on her back, trying to spot something, anything, but there was nothing but pasture, cow shit, and bugs. Not even the hawk was around. There was a small breeze, and it wasn’t miserably hot even though it wasn’t long after noon. My stomach rumbled a complaint, and I slid down, giving her a tiny nudge with my heel. She picked up the pace, snorting a little.

It wasn’t long, and we were topping the next ridge, and I regretted not being more careful when we were staring down at a ranch. Betsy raised her nose and told everyone for a mile that we had arrived. At least two horses answered her. The place wasn’t fancy with a house in the log cabin style near to a barn and several other out-buildings. A flash of movement caught my eye, and I spotted a chicken or two, scratching dirt under a windmill.

A man came out the front door and lifted his hand to me. I raised the hand holding my bow without thinking. Betsy started down the track, forcing me to lean back, and I slipped the arrow into my quiver. Seeker had led me here for some damn reason, and Betsy and I agreed that a man was waiting for us, not a werewolf.

Betsy stopped a polite distance from the porch, and I considered whether or not to get down. If I were smart, I’d turn my horse and go back to my truck from the look on the rancher’s face. It was stern, eyes sharp as if he was sure I was a screwball, and he was older but not as old as Seeker. Retired was my guess, maybe military a long time ago.

“He said you would carry a bow and ride a white horse,” the man rumbled. “For some reason, I assumed--.”

“I’d be less white.” I nodded, putting aside the fact that Seeker could’ve warned me that I was about out of gas. “Sorry.” It was dumb to apologize for my skin, but it was more about my father. “Seeker pointed and told me to come here. You want me to go?” I rooted in my pocket. “I have a little money, if you could spare some gas.”

“Gordon Seeker has a nose for trouble.”

I wiped some sweat from my forehead, considered that I and my horse were filthy, and shrugged. “Can I at least water my horse before I go?” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I felt as if I’d gone my last mile, but I stiffened my back and refused to look pitiful, or hopeful.

A hawk swooped down by the barn, and I nearly drew an arrow on reflex. Betsy whinnied again, and I said, “You might want to put your chickens away.”

“That one prefers rabbits.” He stepped down and strode to me as if he’d made up his mind. “Jim Alvin of the Yakama Nation, and you are welcome here.”

Something nudged me, and I dismounted from Betsy, feeling shy and desperately trying to look tough. “Clint Barton, or, um… Hawkeye, and thank you. I’ll try not to cause trouble.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Seeker’s blood.”

*********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am never writing in chapters again. This is so damn frustrating!


	5. Chapter 5

***********  
Living with a circus, I’d come across all sorts in my life. I spoke fluent Spanish, more and more of a job requirement, and I had no prejudices left in me. Women, men, little people, acrobats: they were all good. I admit the clowns creeped me out occasionally, but they were nice people under hideous makeup.

Jim – I refused to think of him as Alvin – was a whole ‘nother kind of man, and I found myself keeping an eye on his right hand and staying mouse quiet. I wasn’t scared, but it never hurt to be cautious when dealing with strangers who were clearly in charge. Of everything. I was pretty sure Jim had never been in a situation where he didn’t have the right answer.

While I was bumbling through life, he’d sailed, never placing a foot wrong. I parked my trailer exactly where he told me to inside a lean-to hooked to a small barn that had a corral coming off it. He unhooked the trailer and put some blocks behind the wheels. Somehow, I just knew what was coming next.

I grabbed my extra set of arrows from behind the seat and handed him the keys. He met my eyes and nodded, taking them. The truck had to go. It was too conspicuous with its mix and match paint. I shrugged and went to put the arrows in the trailer, propping open the door to my little hideaway. It was a wreck, of course, so instead of listening to my truck drive away, I spent a little time cleaning up and filling a garbage bag. Everything I owned needed washing except for my purple spandex, which made me cringe. Jim made me feel like I should be clean and tidy.

A whinny brought me out of my funk, and I went to check on Betsy, who was in a kind of horse heaven: nice corral, plenty of water, shade, and hay. She bobbed her head at me and began to pace in a circle almost as big as the corral. I understood an invitation when I saw one. Ducking through the fence, I trotted to the middle of her circle and waited until she came around again before running, doing a cartwheel, and landing on her back. She snorted, as usual, and I laughed, moving to stand on her large rump.

We moved through the routine without a hitch, and it felt good to do something other than drive and panic. One of Jim’s horses strolled over to watch from his side of the fence, and I bowed to him. Jim had two horses, one brown and the other black. They were fat, happy, and Betsy ignored them. Betsy neighed that I was lagging so I did my back flip, no problem with the landing. A handstand on her withers led to a quick combination, and I ended the show with my usual flourish. Betsy whirled on her front legs and gave me a hoof to the backside that sent me flying towards the stock tank.

“That’s gonna leave a bruise!” I yelled at her, but I got the message. I stank. “And you’re filthy, too!”

A hint of movement to my right made me spin. It was Jim, and he looked as if he wanted to smile. “Calvin is taking care of the truck. You’ll meet my nephew later.”

I was pretty sure I was supposed to thank him, but I was going to miss that truck and didn’t have enough money to buy another one. Scooping up some water, I scrubbed at my face and smoothed my wet hands through my hair. Now was the time to say something smart, or even smart aleck, but all I could think of was, “Werewolves and the government are after me, and government werewolves are, too.”

“Gordon Seeker told us.” Jim nodded. “Only one of his get could make so many enemies.”

With a sigh, I sat on the edge of the stock tank. “They could kill you.”

Jim shrugged. “We shall see.” He pointed with his chin at my horse. “What breed is she?”

“Circus horse.” I could see my answer irritated him. “She was born not long after I joined Carson’s. We grew up together. I saved my money for years to buy her.”

Betsy had been edging closer, no doubt wanting to sling water on me. I gave her the stink eye, and she lowered her head to snuffle some hay like she had no idea what I meant. Jim was looking at me like he expected more words, so I said, “I’m gonna clean her up.”

Without waiting for an answer, I went to my trailer to organize her tack and get out a brush. I didn’t own a real saddle, just pads, and her only bridle was too fancy for riding on a ranch. She always knew it was time for the show when I put it on her. Looking at all the purple show stuff made me realize how stupid I was. My circus career was done, and so was Betsy’s. It hadn’t been much of a life, but it’d been mine. I slumped down on the end of the trailer and turned a brush over and over in my hands.

“Get your dirty clothes and come to the house. Your horse can wait.”

Now, of all times, words tumbled out. “Why am I here? Who are you? Why did I listen to a crazy old man?” I didn’t get up, just continuing to sit and stare at the brush. “I’m dead, so dead. Werewolves hate me. And I’m supposed to be a sniper for them?”

“Things will look better after you eat.” Jim’s face showed little emotion. “Gordon Seeker brought you here for a reason, trust that.”

“Trust a guy I don’t know when everyone I know has screwed me over?” I might’ve whined it out.

“Trust the father of your mother, who was a good woman. She was Wishram and Yakama. I knew her when she was young. She wasn’t blessed with the gifts of her father. We mourned for her when she left in despair with the white man.”

Shocked, I surged to my feet. “I’m white! Completely!”

“I don’t argue with Gordon Seeker.” Jim took the brush from my slack hand, stowed it, and shut the trailer door. “Come.”

Feeling numb, I grabbed up the pile of filthy clothes and trudged after him to the house. None of this made sense.

*********


	6. Chapter 6

********

Gordon Seeker showed his face almost the instant dinner was on the table, coming in the door without knocking and making my heart race. Jim hadn’t flinched.

“He smells better.” Seeker loaded a plate and tucked in without asking. I hesitated, unsure, but my stomach told me to eat something that wasn’t a candy bar. It was some sort of casserole and a salad, and I watched Jim’s face to make sure I wasn’t screwing up when I took seconds.

“He has a good horse,” Jim said.

“He is sitting right here,” I growled. I flinched again when the door opened again to reveal a young man, younger than me, dressed in jeans and a red flannel shirt. He grinned and got to eating without asking.

“This is Calvin, my nephew,” Jim said. “The truck?”

“Repainted. We checked for bugs but didn’t find any. Changed the VIN number and got it a different tag.” Calvin talked around his food. “John Thundercloud asked if he could use it for now. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“You should have asked Hawkeye,” Jim rumbled. “Thundercloud’s mom is in the hospital. He doesn’t have a way to visit her.”

My head had been going back and forth like a tennis match. I knew I was lacking a serious amount of information so I let the truth spill out. “I thought you were selling it and keeping the money to pay for my rent.”

There was a long, awkward silence, and I wanted the words back. In that instant, I missed the circus fiercely, where I always knew what to say and do. “I mean, he can have it, if that’s what you want.”

That broke the silence. Seeker made a humming noise. “Your words do you credit.”

“It’s a cultural difference,” Jim said, not in a harsh way. “Here on the reservation, property is a much looser concept. We’re a tribe. We share. You are welcome in my home because I am the cousin of your mother through her mother, but you are also welcome because Gordon Seeker is your grandfather.”

Calvin stared at me, mouth slightly open. “He’s a skinwalker?” He shouted the question, coming to his feet, food forgotten. “He is white!”

“That’s what I keep saying,” I said, shooting a glare at my grandfather, who, apparently, really was my grandfather. “What’s a skinwalker?”

No one even looked at me. Calvin stormed away from the table, and Seeker shook his head. “My gifts are strongest in the males of my line.”

“Calvin isn’t content with his own gifts.” Jim shook his head. “He is young.”

I couldn’t help but feel guilty, and I wasn’t sure what for exactly. Wiping my mouth, I eased to my feet. Since all my clothes were being washed, I was dressed in Jim’s sweats and a T-shirt from some university I’d never heard of and no shoes. I wasn’t sure what I was doing, but I went after him. Some guy I’d just met.

He was out at the corral, staring at Betsy and fuming, practically kicking dirt. I leaned into the rail next to him. “Thanks for getting rid of the truck. Maybe you bought me some time.”

Calvin shrugged. “Jim asked me to do it.” He put his head down. “Gordon Seeker always breaks the rules. Coyote, too. Give me Bear or Wolf any day.”

I was starting to think I’d never understand what any of these guys were talking about. “I like horses.” I whistled at Betsy and she shook her head at me, mane and slobber flying. She had no intention of walking closer. I sighed, wondering if it was my fault. “At the circus, I met lots of Mexicans, no Indians though. We were always a Midwest circus, and then, one day, Carson ups and starts traveling west. Maybe he was tired of the werewolves, I don’t know, but they found me again outside Butte.”

Mouth hanging slightly open, Calvin stared. He gulped. “Werewolves are after you?”

“Yeah.” I could see he was scared, and he should be. “I was headed to Canada when Seeker brought me here.”

“I really hope he doesn’t get us all killed.” Calvin blew out a big breath. “I met this Alpha? Adam? He’s huge. He could eat you in one bite.”

“No, haven’t met him, and he wouldn’t be the first werewolf I’ve had to kill.” I vowed to sleep with my arrows and bow close to my hand. “Stupid furballs,” I grumbled. They’d started it, and I wasn’t ever going to quit killing the ones who were dumb enough to come after me.

Calvin stared at me like I was crazy, and that was possible. “I don’t believe you. Uncle Hank shot Adam with a gun, right in the chest, and he was up within minutes. Shot him in the heart!”

“Silver arrows do a pretty decent job, especially if you can catch them when they’re shifting. Their temper is their weakness. I goaded a young one into shifting once and then put an arrow in his heart. He stayed dead.” I wasn’t bragging. It’d happened. “The old ones are more dangerous. I nearly got killed by one in Kansas City.”

“You killed him?”

“No choice about it.” I kept my eyes on my horse, not wanting to think about it. “I didn’t want to do it. They… just… won’t stop.” I leaned my head against the rail, tired of all the death. “Now SHIELD wants me to kill people, and there’s nowhere to go. I’m out of money, energy, and my truck is gone.”

My horse nibbled at my hair, telling me to stop feeling sorry for myself, and I gave her a poke on the forehead. “Stop it, horse.” It was nearing sunset, and I yawned, stomach full and tired. “You tell Jim I’m going to crash in my trailer?” I slipped through the bars and checked that Betsy had everything she’d need and then went back out near the trailer. Calvin stepped to me, face serious, and I wondered if he might throw a punch at me.

“We’re cousins,” he said with a long sigh. “Damn it.”

I would admit it stung, a little, not much. Barney had died two years ago, so I’d had plenty of time to get used to being alone in the world. When I was little, I’d never understood why other kids had grandparents and aunts and uncles, and I didn’t. A few more people in the family would’ve been nice, but now was not the time, and it was no surprise they didn’t want me anyway. I was a circus freak.

The wind picked up, and the shadows were long now. I wondered if Calvin wanted some kind of answer. I straightened my shoulders, not angry just tired. “Do you think I’d claim you because an old man has some crazy story about my mom? I’m white. Irish. I’m going to hide here a few days on the goodwill of Jim and then take off for Canada. So, go the fuck away.”

Calvin flinched, mouth opening and then shutting. He bit his lower lip and then answered, “Too bad, white man, you have a tribe now.” And he turned to stride away to the house. I wanted to yell after him something smart, but I couldn’t think of anything that didn’t sound like cursing. I propped open the door to my trailer and finished cleaning up the garbage in the last of the light. When I was done, I padded over to the house and went inside to put my trash in the bin and grab my clothes from the dryer.

Jim leaned against a counter-top, watching, frowning, arms crossed, and if I had to, I’d have guessed he wasn’t happy with me.

“I’d leave but you took my truck,” I mumbled, clutching my warm clothes.

He shook his head. “Stop proving to me that you are as stubborn as your grandfather. There is a room for you upstairs.”

I didn’t even consider it. “No. If the werewolves come, I need to be able to fight.”

Jim blinked. “They won’t come to the Yakama Reservation.”

I didn’t even bother to laugh. “They will if I didn’t get all the trackers off the trailer. Anyway, I haven’t slept in a house in years. I’d probably have some sort of allergic reaction.” I took a step towards the back door, not waiting for permission, but making sure he wasn’t going to follow me and make a scene.

He ducked his head and then nodded. “We will argue again tomorrow, and it’s time you put this feud with the werewolves to rest.”

“Tell them.” I scooped up my purple Converse by the back door and went out to the only home I’d ever known.

***********


	7. Chapter 7

A huge red and blue eagle was sitting on Betsy’s rump. I rubbed my eyes, considered that I’d slept for about ten hours to find the sun well in the sky so it was possible I was hallucinating. “Really?” I asked.

Betsy pawed the ground with a hoof, meaning she wanted her grain, but she apparently had no problem giving a ride to an eagle the size of… I stared. Okay, that was a big bird. Cautiously, I pushed open the gate and went to the back of the trailer to get Betsy’s purple bucket and fill it with grain. She was waiting when I stepped out, and I dropped the bucket, sure my jaw was slack.

Gordon Seeker perched on Betsy’s butt. “I thought you might sleep the day away. My horse was hungry.”

“She knows how to wake me up,” I said defensively.

“I told her to let you sleep.” Seeker smiled, lifting his palms to the sky. “A beautiful day. A good day to die.”

“Comforting.” I grabbed a brush and started to work while Betsy chewed, rattling the bucket. “When are you going to tell me why you brought me here?”

“It’s a good place.” He eyed a chicken that was wandering over to clean up Betsy’s bits of dropped grain. “You missed breakfast.”

“I’m used to going hungry,” I said with a shrug. “I’m not awake yet, am I?” I muttered, cleaning Betsy’s legs and thinking about getting the hoof pick. “Are you an eagle?”

“No,” he said with a snort. “I eat them for breakfast.”

The hen gave me a peck on the toe, and I remembered that shoes were a good thing. “My toes are not worms!” I said to her, ignoring Seeker’s laughter at my hopping. “I’ll be back.”

Leaving Betsy to her brunch and Seeker to his weirdness, I went to the front of the trailer to find some clothes that were mine. Shoes would be good, too. Since I was there, I made sure my bow and arrows were in an easy place to get. On a normal day, I’d be preparing for the night’s show, but normal was gone. I laughed at the idea that circus life was normal. I shoved my feet in my Converse, made a half-ass attempt at making the bed, and grabbed Jim’s clothes to take inside.

I headed for the house, just glancing towards Betsy and my odd grandfather. Only a chicken by a tipped over bucket stared back at me. I rolled my eyes and muttered something rude about Seeker under my breath. Jim was at the kitchen table, coffee cup in one hand and paper in the other. He looked up, eyebrows raised in question.

“Decided to join the living?”

“Probably should’ve skipped it.” I went down the hallway by the guest bathroom and put his clothes in the washer. “Want me to run these?”

“No. I will add to them later.” Jim used his chin to point at the coffee. “Help yourself.”

“You sure?” I asked automatically. In the circus, it wasn’t unusual to punch someone in the face over good coffee. He nodded, and I used the mug that was sitting it out. “Thanks.” It was polite to sit across the table from him, sip coffee, and talk about the day. I hoped two out of three was good enough. The house had a large window opposite the table, perfect for looking out at the beautiful countryside and seeing my horse trot by with an old man perched on her back. “My horse,” I muttered.

Jim snorted and rolled his eyes. I drank my coffee and considered my day. Other than picking Betsy’s hooves and checking her shoes, my schedule was clear. “Do you have chores I can do?” I had an uneasy feeling that I should earn my keep. “Chickens to feed?”

“I saw you met my hen, Bug.” Jim smiled. “I have a few things that could use a young man’s enthusiasm. Calvin has gone to town to buy supplies. Gordon Seeker eats like a bear.”

I took a long slurp of coffee. “He said he eats eagles.”

“I haven’t seen him do that. Maybe scare them a little but not eat them.” Jim met my eyes without looking away. “Calvin wants to fly. He’s not angry at you.”

“He’s racist.” It was an ugly word, but it fit.

“Perhaps, but he is not wrong. You are half white. You should not carry the gifts you do. Gordon Seeker says the males of his line inherit his gifts more strongly. I am uncertain. So far, you seem to be a young man who has a nice horse, a chip on his shoulder, and grudge against werewolves, nothing more.”

I rolled the mug between my hands, words coming hard, but it was time to say them. “My father beat me, screaming the word freak. Sometimes, he hit my mother, calling her a whore. They died in a car accident when I was eight. My brother, Barney, he took care of me, usually, got us to the circus, but he said I was too much like Mom. Barney wanted to be a werewolf more than anything. They killed him and ate him. His…” I had to take a deep breath and swallow the scratch in my throat. “Organs were nothing but snacks for them.”

“So, you killed them.” Jim’s voice was low and steady.

“They said they’d turn him. They promised. All they did was eat him.” I wanted to throw the mug out the window, so I slid it away from my hands. “We were near Chicago. I knew what they looked like as humans, and the bar they liked. It took a month, but I killed them both and then rejoined the circus.”

“And the werewolves have been hunting you ever since?”

I scrubbed my hand through my hair. “Seems that way. I was sure no one saw me do it, but…”

“Cameras everywhere. And scent. They hunt by scent. It’s possible the Chicago alpha knew the circus you were with and kept trying.”

“Maybe.” I had no idea. “So, about two weeks ago. Some guy with an eye patch, werewolf, of course, shows up and wants to hire me. Says he’s from SHIELD. I’ve had other offers to be a sniper, but I liked the circus.”

“You felt safe there. You love your horse.” Jim sighed and rubbed his forehead. “We need to do two things. Wake up the gifts Gordon Seeker says you possess, and find out a way to stop the werewolves.”

“It might be easier for me to make a run to Canada. If I left Betsy here, they’d never find me.” It hurt to say it, but something in me said that Betsy was meant to be here. This was her home now, but it wasn’t going to be mine.

Jim folded the paper carefully and finished his coffee. “You’d never make it. Gordon Seeker says they almost had you on the way here.”

“Stupid werewolves.” I got up to pace to the window. My horse wasn’t in sight, but I wasn’t worried. I couldn’t stay inside any longer. Jim was tapping his fingers on the table, not moving an inch, deep in thought. I bolted out the back door, not running, but needing fresh air. Since my horse was gone, I went to explore the outbuildings and barn, finding chickens and horses, but no cows. The horses were happy to be brushed, I found some chicken scratch to toss to the hens, and there were horse troughs that needed water.

When I couldn’t find any more chores, even my trailer had been swept clean, I took my bow and went to find a high place, ending up in the loft. I found a large window, probably to bring hay inside, and opened it. I could see for some distance, spotting a white blob that I knew to be Betsy and a giant bird that I suspected was Gordon Seeker.

Seeker was a werebird, or whatever, something like a werewolf, only a bird, bigger than an eagle and colored red and blue. The cowboy boots made more sense now, but that was the only thing that had since I’d meet him. It did clear up the mystery of how the guy had kept disappearing and catching up with me. He’d flown. I squatted down, bow at hand, watching and letting events and words tumble around my mind, trying to find some sanity.

I’d said too much to Jim about my life, but I didn’t regret it. Jim wouldn’t waste time feeling sorry for me, and he wouldn’t base his next decisions on pity for me. Flexing my hand over and over again on the grip, I realized that I trusted Jim. It was a dangerous idea, but I did. Maybe we were related. I didn’t know, and it left the larger, horrible question of why my mother would leave the safety of a tribe to marry my father, who’d beaten her.

If Barney were alive, there’d have been someone to ask. I saw a flash of movement in the grass and had an arrow nocked before I thought about it. Before I could let loose, Gordon Seeker dropped from the sky and stole the rabbit for his lunch. I rolled my eyes and tucked my arrow away.

Jim stepped out the back door in his blue jeans, flannel shirt, and boots, looking more like a cowboy than an Indian to my eyes. For the first time, I wondered if he had a wife or kids and how he’d paid for his nice house and ranch. I’d caught the clue that we were on a reservation, which one was a mystery, but looking at Jim’s strict face, I had no desire to ask. He might yell or something.

Betsy caught my eye, moving toward the house at an easy canter. I could tell she’d been down rolling in the dirt, but giving her a bath out in these boonies seemed stupid. The brambles in her tail had to go, however.

I glanced back to Jim and noticed he was staring up at me. I should probably go see what he wanted, and I considered climbing down the outside. There were a few handholds, but I didn’t want him to think I was a show-off. Instead, I used the convenient rope someone had left to haul up hay. Betsy got to me before I hit ground, and I swung unto her back.

She was feeling good because she didn’t head into her corral. I nudged her Jim’s direction, and she went at a gentle trot. “Need something?”

“Is that bow a toy, or can you use it?”

“Who would you like me to kill?” I tried to hide my anger.

“A deer, if you can get one. Rabbits are good, too.” Jim motioned at the barn without pointing. “Grab a saddle. Go hunting. There are a lot of people coming for dinner tomorrow.”

That pulled me up short. “Why?”

“To meet the new member of our tribe.”

**********


	8. Chapter 8

The sound of wind under wings brought his wolf awake, and Bran padded silently to the front door to see why a hawk was at his doorstep. It wasn’t a hawk. It was a letter on his porch and the retreating form of a bird bigger than a bald eagle skimming over the trees. His wolf growled at the clear invasion of his territory as Bran scooped up the letter. It was labeled ‘the Marrok’ and he just knew it was bad news. Nothing with talons that big ever delivered good news.

As Bran set the letter down in front of him, everyone at the table shut their mouths and dropped their eyes.

“Do any of you have even the slightest idea why the Yakama nation has declared war on, as they put it, ‘the werewolf nation’?” Bran’s voice dripped with anger. He’d known this letter was going to be bad, but this was completely unexpected.

Charles kept his eyes down. “If I had to wager a guess, I’d bet the Chicago pack is involved.”

“Why is it always Chicago?” Bran grumbled. He’d had Charles clean out Leo’s pack not that long ago, and maybe it was Jaimie’s turn to go. “How many deaths has that pack had in the last two years?”

“They reported six, as you well know,” Charles said.

“That’s not all that many,” Anna said. She’d never dropped her eyes all that far. Bran eased back and began to tap his fingers on the table. Leah relaxed measurably, and he didn’t let it show that he wished she were stronger. His wolf growled, unhappy with any number of things, and Anna continued, “Not going back to check.”

Charles sighed, and whether in exasperation or admiration was hard to tell.

Bran shook his head. He needed a minute to think about this, pull events together. Wiping his mouth, he abandoned his food to go out on the porch and stare up at the mountains. Dimly, he could hear Leah fussing at Anna for her boldness and lack of respect. Charles was silent, allowing Anna to fight her own battle.

There was a pause, and Bran’s wolf let out a roar at the invasion of his territory. Bran blinked in surprise and shoved his wolf down, but they both raged. In a blink, Charles was at his elbow.

“Probably a loner wolf,” he said.

“He hunts,” Bran said, feeling the wolf’s lust for blood. “And he thinks his prey is close.” He shut his eyes and followed the bonds. “He’s from Chicago. One of Jaimie’s. Very dominant, probably a second. Whoever he’s after is going to be very dead soon.”

The silence from Charles was deep and angry.

“Send Asil to Chicago. I want every wolf from Jaimie’s pack here as soon as possible, no excuses, and tell the Moor he has my permission to kill those who argue with my ruling. You find out why the Yakama tribe wants us for our pelts.”

“You’ll take the plane?” Charles didn’t wait for an answer, digging out his cell phone and starting to dial. “Partway?”

Bran could feel Charles’ impatience at being left behind on a hunt, but this was his territory, and his wolf needed to handle this alone. The change started before he had his pants down, and Charles helped by tearing off Bran’s shirt. Bran didn’t look back. He ran for the airport, and he howled his joy at a hunt.


	9. Chapter 9

I snuck out to my trailer early in the evening, tired of people and needing to sharpen my arrows. They were dull from all the targets I’d been hitting in the last two weeks. It felt as if my life had become one non-stop powwow as tribe members dropped in at all hours of the day to meet me and find out if it was true the Amazing Hawkeye was half-blood Wishram and Yakama. I didn’t even know what a Wishram or Yakama was, but then my knowledge of Indians came from Saturday cartoons, and I was sure most of that stuff was an insult.

My little trailer was bulging with stuff people had given me. Rugs, blankets, baskets and even clothes: all in bright colors and beautiful patterns that reminded me of my mother. I felt rich and confused at their generosity. I had done nothing to deserve these things, but Jim had explained that refusing was a grave insult, and I didn’t want to make that mistake. My grandmother, who’d fallen in with Gordon Seeker for some reason, was dead, but everyone had a story to tell about her, and once or twice my mind twirled and spun that I had a family, cousins and uncles and aunts, and they didn’t hate me. Not yet.

First, I made sure Betsy had hay and water. The tribe loved her, and she was growing fat on treats. She had finally received her due as queen. I really didn’t understand Indians, Native Americans, whatever. They were nice to me, and that made no sense. None. I was white, uneducated, and had werewolves after me, though Jim said he was handling that situation. He refused to provide details, and I’d given up trying to wheedle them out of him.

I’d been gifted with a small coffee table, made out of some nice-looking wood, and I set up my arrows there, finding the tool to properly sharpen them. I checked the shafts, nocks and fletching, fixing this and that and discarding one altogether because it was cracked.

The sun went down, and I lit some battery-operated lamps so I could continue working. Jim had offered to run an extension cord out, but I had a feeling that was one step in his plan to get me in the house, so I’d said no. It was the end of summer but still nice out at night. Betsy and I had gone exploring and found a great spot, deep in the woods, to be alone when I needed a break from people. I just wasn’t used to all this attention, but I was afraid that winter would drive me inside whether I liked it or not.

Gordon Seeker was nowhere to be found. No one seemed worried, so I acted casual about it, but it made me nervous. Seeker was a magnet for trouble, just ask anyone. Jim said I took after him that way, and I had a hard time finding any arguments in my favor.

When I finished with the arrows, I refilled my quivers and took up my bow, running my hand up and down, looking for problems. My old recurve sucked, but it still worked. The string was worn, and I switched it for my last new one.

I felt better when my work was done, ready for anything. In these last weeks, I’d slept and eaten until I felt human again. I felt strong, not worn down by death and worry that more death was on the way. A life of farm chores and hunting rabbits, mixed with plenty of food was a good combination for me. Once or twice, I’d felt guilty for accepting so much from relatives I’d never met, and then Jim put me to work, chopping wood for an old man who needed it, or fixing someone’s roof, and that took care of the guilt.

Tribe meant something. I hadn’t quite figured it all out yet, but I was getting the hang of it. If only werewolves weren’t planning to show up and eat everybody, my life would be great. I sighed in disgust and decided to talk to Jim about it again tomorrow.

The lights were still on at the house, and I turned off my lamps, shucking off my shoes before crawling under more than enough blankets to keep me warm. The night was cool, comfortable, and the last thing I heard before dropping to sleep was Betsy snuffling around in her hay.

A scream wrenched from a hawk’s throat and Betsy’s whinny brought me wide awake, and I bolted, grabbing my weapons and cursing inconsiderate werewolves who attacked at the ass-crack of dawn.

My arrow was nocked before my feet hit the ground, and I ran towards the house, hoping I was fast enough. First impressions scared the hell out of me: the wolf was big, pitch black, and looked demented, howling as it ran for the front door. It was typical, stupid werewolf behavior. Always so impatient, and it had gotten all the ones who’d come after me killed. I shot the arrow at the big ass target, scared to death that the wolf would make the door and kill Jim.

Seeker dipped low, talons raking for eyes as the arrow thumped home in the werewolf’s butt. The wolf reared up, swatted at Seeker and bit the arrow, ripping it out and spotting me. I stopped, found a good stance, and pulled my heaviest arrow, silver on the shaft and the tips. Time seemed to slow down: Betsy galloped in a circle, Seeker flapped hard for the sky, and Jim opened the door as the wolf lowered his head to face me directly.

Werewolves were fast, damn fast, and I held my breath, waiting for the perfect moment to release. The wolf howled, hoping to make me flinch, and I whispered, “Another one for you, Barney.”

Out of nowhere, a wolf more gray than any other color with a white-tipped tail slammed into the black one, and the fight was on, teeth and claws ripping and slashing. I held my arrow, not sure even why, because hitting either werewolf would be a good thing, but the gray one was shoving the black wolf away from the house, away from Jim. They were roaring, and then Jim shot them with a round from a shotgun. The gray one seemed to catch the brunt of it, and the black one reared up over him, triumphant.

I fired, and before the arrow hit him, I had another arrow out - this one lighter and more silver than not – firing again. Both went exactly where I wanted, of course. The black werewolf collapsed on top of the other. Jim and I approached the pile cautiously, ready to fire again.

“Silver in your shotgun?”

“A mixture.” Jim kept his gun up and ready. “Did they say anything?”

“Where’d the gray-ish one come from?” My eyes widened as Seeker flew close and then changed in mid-flight to land near us. One second, he was a huge bird and the next he was a grumpy old man in cowboy boots, tacky cowboy boots. My eyes and my brain argued about reality as Seeker strode over to the black wolf and dragged it off the other. I kept my arrow trained on the gray one, in case it moved.

Seeker cut me a look. “Please don’t shoot the Marrok. He’s going to be bad-tempered enough with all the pellets in his ass.”

“Oh,” Jim said. “How was I supposed to know?”

I nearly giggled, stress making me twitchy. “He’s starting to change. If you want him dead, now’s the time. His organs are going to be on the outside here in a minute.”

Jim shook his head. “Get your arrows from the other one.”

Nodding, I retrieved them from the black wolf’s body. I cleaned them off on his fur before putting them away, not looking to see if anyone was judging me. The Marrok, as Seeker called him, was about halfway through, and we all moved back from the snapping and snarling. Seeker caught me by the arm.

“He’s not your enemy.”

“Tell him that.” I wasn’t sure, to say the least. “I’m going to calm Betsy down.” Hurrying, I went to grab her bucket and get her some feed. It’d get her mind off the werewolves. She nosed my shirt, and I gave her a neck hug. “It’s okay. The bad werewolf is dead,” I muttered, wondering if I’d have to kill the other one in a few minutes. She buried her face in the bucket next, and I ran my hands down her legs to make sure she was all right. Promising her I’d be back, I jogged to the scene of the crime to find Jim helping a young sandy-haired man to his feet. He snarled and growled, still pissed, but I tucked my shoulder under his other arm, and we got him in the house. The guy looked small, but he was heavy.

Blood trailed down his naked body from a multitude of holes on his lower back, butt and thighs, buckshot at close range. He wouldn’t die, but it was going to hurt awhile. The shock was how young he looked, nothing but a kid. He made me feel old, and I hadn’t hit thirty yet. This Marrok guy was brave, taking on a bigger, no doubt older, werewolf. I didn’t know if they’d been fighting over territory, or who got to eat us first, but I did recognize that this guy had given us a hand.

We helped him get on his stomach on the bed in the spare bedroom while Seeker yanked the covers off, down to the sheet.

“Thanks,” he growled. “Not for shooting me, but for the rest of it.”

I knew if I opened my mouth bad things would come roaring out, so I clamped my lips together and looked at Jim.

“We are sorry about your ass,” Seeker said, and Jim rubbed his face. “We will have to dig the buckshot out.”

“No! My wolf will take over.” The Marrok shook his head, snarling out the words. “I’ll try to kill you all.”

There was a sliding whisper as I pulled an arrow from my quiver and nocked it. An arrow in his chest would take care of all our problems. The Marrok met my eyes and growled. I glared right back at him until Seeker stepped between us. “Hawkeye, get the first aid kit from under the sink in the kitchen.”

Jim seemed to agree, but I wasn’t sure. I hesitated. “I just found you guys. Werewolves are my problem, not yours, and I’ll feel awful if he eats you.”

“He’s the Amazing Hawkeye?” Marrok asked from behind his shield of old guys who should know better than to turn their backs on a werewolf. “The one from the circus?”

“You mean the circus werewolves shut down? The circus that raised me? The circus full of good people who are scattered to the winds because of you furballs? Or the circus that I can’t join because werewolves ruined that, too!” I might’ve been yelling. “Fine! I’ll get the damn first aid kit, but if he so much as moves, I’m putting an arrow in his eye!” I stormed out, furious at him for existing and furious at myself for losing control.


	10. Chapter 10

Pulling on his pack’s strength would heal the wounds in minutes, but Bran did nothing. He had no desire for Samuel to have to dig out the silver through healed skin. The entire pack was reeling from his shooting and subsequent collapse, and he could feel Samuel and Charles drawing closer. They’d be here in an hour or two, and Bran could only hope that Hawkeye wouldn’t put an arrow in them.

Bran concentrated tightly and whispered in their minds that he was safe, if not sound. He didn’t hear their answers, as usual, and he shut his eyes, feigning unconsciousness, not that the old Indian would believe it. He wished Mercy were here because he had a feeling that her knowledge of skinwalkers would be useful. There was no doubt that cell phones all over America were ringing, asking for information about Bran. If any other wolf than his sons graced the door, Bran might have to defend his alpha status.

Going over the fight again in his head, Bran and his wolf snarled. He’d had the situation under control, pushing Dominic away from the house and attempting to shake him into submission. The shotgun blast had put a stop to all of that, and Bran knew he’d be dead if Hawkeye hadn’t killed Dominic. Two arrows: one to the heart and one to the eye. There was a debt to be paid there.

Why Dominic was out hunting in the wilds of Washington instead of eating pizza in Chicago was a question for Charles to answer. Bran also wanted to know why Dominic had been long gone into his wolf.

“Your wounds are still bleeding,” the old Indian said. “Do you want us to staunch them?”

“No,” Bran growled. “My son is a doctor. He’ll be here soon. Leave me. My wolf rages.” He held onto control by a thin margin. “Tell Hawkeye to keep his arrows close.”

The door shut with a click, and he took a ragged breath, fighting his wolf down again.


	11. Chapter 11

After I delivered the first aid kit to Seeker, I went out on the porch and swung up on the roof. I wanted to be able to see if there were more werewolves on the way and keep an eye on the road. The dead werewolf was stretched out between my trailer and the house, and I realized that the police needed to be called. I couldn’t just bury the body in the dead of night like I’d done the others. There were witnesses. That wolf might’ve had a wife, who’d want to know, and Jim seemed like the kind of guy who would call the police.

But what it all came down to is that it was time for me to move on, away from people I cared about, even a little. If something had happened to Jim today, I’d have felt guilty the rest of my life. I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t risk his life over my comfort.

The thought I could go kill Marrok and make all these problems go away crossed my mind, but I couldn’t do it. Killing a wolf that was attacking me was a far cry from putting an arrow in a young man bleeding on a bed. He wasn’t even that big of a werewolf. I’d killed bigger.

Movement made me stand and a pickup came bouncing up the driveway, such as it was. It was Calvin. He showed nearly every day, and I could tell that Jim was teaching him things, but it all seemed private so I stayed away from the lessons.

Calvin ran for the door. “Is Jim okay?”

“He was when I came out here.” I wasn’t promising anything else. “There’s a shot werewolf in the guest room, also still alive when I left.”

“Holy shit.” Calvin was gone in a flash. I crouched down and settled in to watch. Someone would be along, of that I was sure. Werewolves travelled in packs. The biggest question in my mind was whether or not I’d have to kill them.

Before I was thirsty, a helicopter set down in the pasture, and I wasn’t even that shocked when two men got out and started racing for the house. Betsy neighed loud enough to be heard over the blades, and I nocked an arrow. They were werewolves, that was clear. One, looking as Irish as myself, carried a large first aid kit, and the other was the biggest Indian I’d ever seen. Jim opened the door almost the same time I jumped down, adding a flip to take some sting out of my feet. At some point, I should probably get some shoes.

They came to a slow halt, not saying a word, and I let my arrow speak for me. Jim put his hands on his hips. “I am Jim Alvin of the Yakama Nation.”

They shifted on their feet, and I lifted my arrow slightly to let them know I was paying attention and wouldn’t mind shooting one or both of them. The bigger one’s nostrils flared. “Careful, Samuel. He’s a skinwalker.”

Whatever that was, it probably wasn’t a compliment. “He is Hawkeye, grandson of Gordon Seeker. One wolf has died here today. I don’t want any more bloodshed,” Jim said. “State your intentions.”

“We are here to aid our father and open negotiations with the Yakama Nation concerning werewolves,” the Indian said.

“We were negotiating earlier with that black werewolf. You can see how it went,” I said, not taking my eyes off them, not caring that they were growling. I’d lower my eyes when I was dead and not one minute sooner. “That young kid is your dad? Tell me another lie.”

“We aren’t lying,” Samuel said. “With werewolves, appearances are deceiving. His pack keeps him young. His name is Bran Cornick, and he’s much older than either of us. I'm Samuel Cornick, and this is Charles Cornick. We’re his sons.”

Jim nodded. “That is true, Hawkeye. Don’t let his baby face or lack of fighting skills fool you.”

Eyes bulged. “Lack of fighting skills?” Samuel whispered.

“I saved his ass, but don’t think I won’t shoot you in yours,” I said, seeing their disbelief.

“I don’t want any violence in my house. It upsets the spirits,” Jim said.

“And my horse,” I added. I had no idea about any spirits. Jim pushed my arrow down, and I let him, but I flashed my teeth to let them know I wasn’t going to put up with their werewolf bullshit.

“Come inside,” Jim said, and I let them go first. He stopped me. “Go put on a clean shirt and drag a tarp over the werewolf.”

“Are you going to call the police?” I saw from the look on his face that he wasn’t planning on it. “I’ll need my truck. If I leave, they won’t bother you or the tribe. It’s me they want dead.”

Jim cast a look over his shoulder. “They can hear us, and if those three decide to kill us, nothing will save us.”

I believed him, but I didn’t like it. “If it comes down to it, you hand me over to them with a smile and go back to your life. Just take care of Betsy.”

“Seeker isn’t going to let them touch his horse.” Jim smiled, and it was such a rare occurrence that I stared for a moment. “Shoes would be good, too.”

“Fine.” I turned on my heel and marched to my trailer to put on a clean shirt and find some shoes. Then I’d get the tarp and take care of the wolf, drag him somewhere. I had a feeling things were about to get complicated, and I was going to miss Betsy.


	12. Chapter 12

“And then he filled your backside with buckshot,” Charles said, keeping his hands pressed down firmly on his father’s shoulder blades as Samuel worked on removing the silver pellets.

Bran wanted to rip out someone’s throat. “I was trying to shake him down, but Dominic was too far gone to his wolf.” He tipped his head back and let out a long painful howl. It helped his anger at Samuel and his damn forceps. “I’m surprised there aren’t werewolves beating down that door to challenge me after that pitiful performance.”

“If they try, Hawkeye will shoot them with his little bow,” Samuel said.

Charles pressed a little harder, and Bran knew a deep one was next. He grunted, forced his body to remain still, and answered, “And they’ll be dead.”

“Never underestimate skinwalkers,” Charles said. “He smells like a hawk or an eagle, but not.”

“Do you two know who Gordon Seeker is?” Bran asked, sure they didn’t. Adam had told him about Seeker, after Mercy’s last misadventure. He was tempted to call her. She was mostly well now, but he didn’t want her to punch Hawkeye in the nose when he refused to drop his eyes. “God, I want to bite someone!”

Neither of his sons laughed, and he snapped at Charles’ arm, unable to help himself. Charles started to say something, and they all stiffened at the same time. Pain, death, and grief rolled through the pack bond, and Bran cursed, snarling. He fought his way through and gave Isil a mental yank, forcing him down from killing them all. Jaimie’s pack would follow Isil’s orders now their alpha was dead, no question of that.

“Isil killed Jaimie,” Samuel whispered.

“I’ll have Anna meet Isil at our airfield,” Charles said, loosening his hands a fraction as he spoke to her with their mating bond. “She’ll calm his wolf.”

“It sounds as if Jaimie’s entire pack went insane,” Samuel said. “All of this death because of a circus...” He stopped. “Performer? Acrobat?”

“He’s the Amazing Hawkeye, World’s Greatest Marksman. He can throw a knife, shoot a gun, and fire an arrow so accurately that laser sights look old-fashioned,” Charles said. “Anna made me go to the circus twice. She swooned. I growled.”

“A lot, I bet,” Samuel said.

“I need to talk to Hawkeye,” Bran said, knowing the answers to a few of his questions lay there. Hawkeye expected them to kill him. Hawkeye wasn’t scared to die for Jim and his tribe. Someone had created a huge mess for Bran to clean up. “Hurry up, Samuel.”

“Sure, sure.” Samuel started working again, having finished Bran’s back and moving downward. “First time you’ve been shot in the ass?”

“This old lobo?” Charles laughed, deep in his chest.

“I’m young and a horrible fighter. Don’t pick on me,” Bran said, still unable to believe they thought that of him. “I might cry.”

His sons chuckled, and his wolf settled back another inch. When the last silver pellet plinked into the dish, Samuel and Charles hauled him up and asked Jim about a shower. Jim made sure there were fresh towels, and Bran thanked him, meaning every word. Samuel and Charles guarded the door, which was ridiculous. When he got out, there were clothes, and he nearly laughed. Hawkeye had donated a shirt and jeans, and they fit. Bran took a long stretch and pulled his pack close to reassure them.

Now, he was hungry.


	13. Chapter 13

I handed over the clothes with a glower and retreated to the loft of the barn to keep an eye out. All the werewolves were in the house, but going in there seemed like a bad idea. Jim would handle them, and I’d do what I was told. There weren’t any options left.

Betsy moved into sight, head high, staring down the driveway, giving me a warning that someone was on the way. If it wasn’t for her, I’d have been dead long ago. Her sharp ears made up for my dull ones, not that I was deaf. I just didn’t hear some noises. It was no big deal.

A pickup came over the ridge, and then another, and another. Someone had called the tribe, and they were coming in droves. I was glad I’d put the dead wolf behind the barn, and I threw up a wave, but I wasn’t leaving my perch. The fire pit off to the side of the house was loaded up and someone started a drum circle. There were always drums, and I could feel them under my feet. One of the older women tossed something sweet smelling on the fire, making smoke billow up into the morning sky, and I breathed deep, letting it all settle inside me. I had this. This was mine, and something inside me clicked into a deep contentment.

“A good day to die,” Seeker said from behind me.

And I understood. I stood with a nod, surprised at the two men flanking him. Seeker smiled and said, “They have something to show you.”

The two guys glanced at each other and then started to strip. My eyes widened, and I took a step back. “Not sure I need to see that.”

The taller one laughed, finishing by yanking his shirt over his head. He flashed past me and jumped from the loft. We were a good three stories up, and I reached for him out of reflex, but he pulled something from somewhere and a hawk flew away. He had shifted, easy as pie, into a hawk. The other guy gave me a grin and did a swan dive, shifting and crying out as he swooped over the drummers.

Someone began to dance, and Seeker put his hand on my shoulder. “Some call your kind skinwalkers, or shifters, or avatars, but each of you belongs to one of us. Raven, Coyote, Bear, even Wolf: we each have our kin. The son of the Marrok who you met earlier is descended from Wolf, and you, my grandson, are mine.”

I stared at him and then out the window. “Really?”

“You’ve felt it tugging at you before, and now it is time. Spread your wings, Hawkeye.”

“The werewolf said I’m a skinwalker,” I whispered, understanding now why Calvin was angry with me. “Calvin wants to fly.”

“His path lies in another direction.” Seeker took my bow from my unresisting hand. I slipped out of my quiver and breathed deep of the sweet grassy smell. My clothes seemed to just drop away, and the drums echoed in my head, pounding in my bones. Seeker steered me to the hay door, and I saw Betsy rear straight up as I launched myself. For one moment, I hung in the air, and then I dropped towards the ground. From somewhere deep inside myself, I… switched, screaming out my surprise and elation as I flew over the tribe.

Wings were hard. I wasn’t going to lie about that. Big wings were even harder. Landing in the pasture hadn’t been my idea, and now that I was down, I had no idea how to get back up into the sky. Two hawks and Seeker soared and circled over me, and I jumped into the air, only to hit the ground again. I stood up tall and flapped my wings, stirring up a lot of dust and getting exactly nowhere. I hopped along, feeling stupid but getting more than two feet off the ground was impossible. I was too heavy, and my wings weren’t strong enough.

Seeker landed next to me, and then in a blink was a man, dressed in his usual cowboy attire. I focused tightly and tried to feel it again. It took a minute, and then, like pulling on a pair of pants, I was human.

I was also exhausted, feeling like I’d run a hundred miles. White caught my eye, and I turned to slump against Betsy. She snuffled at me. “Did you see, Betsy? I flew. A little.”

She snorted, and Seeker laughed. “A proud day.”

The drums grew louder, and I slipped up on Betsy to let her take me to some clothes. As I rode up to the tribe, they cheered, danced, and made a path to the fire, where I dismounted into a naked heap. They laughed, pulled me up, someone gave me some jeans, and I gratefully tugged them over my shaking legs. From there, it was drumming, dancing, and eating. I felt like it was all a dream – a good one – and I’d wake up any minute. For the first time, I joined the drumming circle, pounding the rhythm and feeling it down to the soles of my feet.

At some point, Jim shook my hand and grinned. “A walker is born. A good day to be alive.”

I laughed, feeling like a million dollars or like I could fly. I could. Fly. “Thank you. I never could’ve done this without your help.”

“You would’ve. You nearly shifted once or twice since you got here. Seeker just gave you a push.”

“Was that how I got out of the barn?” I laughed, giddy. “Am I a handsome bird? What even am I? Eagle?”

“Chicken hawk,” Seeker said, coming up to thrust another sandwich in my hand. “Eat.”

Jim shook his head. “You are one of a kind, Hawkeye.”

I’d figure it out later, and hopefully, someone had taken a picture with their phone. If not, I’d try to shift in front of a mirror tomorrow. All these crazy thoughts were driven from my mind when Betsy let out a ringing neigh.

Werewolves. I saw them step away from the fire, food in hand, and the blond one I’d saved was walking like he was fine. It was hard to imagine the other two wolves were his sons.

“I should get my bow,” I growled.

“There will be no more violence today.” Jim pushed my sandwich at my face. “Dance. Celebrate. I will deal with the werewolves.”

“Don’t turn your back on them. I don’t care how nice they talk.” I ate my sandwich, found something to drink, and sat in a lawn chair someone had left empty. All around me, people danced and smiled, not seeming to care that werewolves walked among them. It didn’t seem smart, but I’d never met a werewolf who wasn’t trying to kill me.


	14. Chapter 14

The drums called them all outside, but Bran hesitated, hiding in the shade of the porch. There was a feeling of expectation in the noon air. The tribe was waiting for something big to happen. He didn’t think it had anything to do with them. There were a few dancing, and the drums grew louder, stronger, around a pit fire that licked at the sky.

A bit of white caught Bran’s eye and he saw the horse rear straight up at exactly the moment Hawkeye leapt from the top of the barn. Bran watched in horror and then he understood.

“Thunderbird,” Charles whispered from behind him, awe in his voice.

“Mother of God,” Samuel said. “He’s purple!”

Bran knew he was witnessing the first shift of the only thunderbird on the planet. He had the urge to whisper a prayer of thanks that none of his werewolves had managed to kill him. “And why were my wolves hunting him again?”

Neither of his sons answered, and that was the big question here. “Only his underside is purple. The tops are black.” He nearly smiled when it became evident that Hawkeye had a lot to learn if he was going to fly, not glide. The sturdy white horse trotted out towards him, no bridle, no saddle, just a friend, going to help.

“That is a very strange horse,” Samuel said.

“That is Horse,” Charles said. “She’s been protecting the fledgling.” He shook his head. “It takes a lot to surprise me.”

“Always something new in the world. I wonder what it means that a thunderbird has returned.” Bran worried it meant big trouble was coming, but he’d face that bridge when he got there. “I smell flat bread.”

As one, they moved towards food, fire, and Bran hoped they could make a friend before the day was done.


	15. Chapter 15

The werewolves were saying and doing all the right things. I tried to be reassured, but they made me nervous. The one named Charles never smiled and moved like the most dangerous predator on the planet. I had no doubt that if he wanted me dead, I’d be dead. The other son, Samuel, seemed more laidback, maybe even a little down. Once or twice, I’d caught his smile sliding off his face like he didn’t know how to fake it any longer. I couldn’t imagine why a werewolf would be sad. Maybe he didn’t like the taste of humans any longer. I wasn’t going to ask.

Marrok laughed and danced, showing off his moves, once or twice slipping into a native language. Everyone liked him. I did, too, and that wasn’t right. The sun, once high in the sky now tilted towards the west, and somehow the party had gotten larger. I caught glimpses of other Indians, some dressed in full costume, dancing, always dancing.

The drums never stopped, and everyone hushed when Bran sang in a language no one spoke, voice pure. He took a bow when he was done, urging me to join the drum circle as he sang another with Charles. They were good, good enough to hit the road and make money performing.

My horse joined the party, and I laughed at her expression when five children claimed her back. Gordon Seeker had vanished again, but I knew he’d be back. The hawks had flown away. I figured they’d go to the barn for their clothes at some point.

Jim sang a few songs with the drums, and I stared in amazement. Different. Weird. It made my spine tingle.

“It makes you want to shift,” Marrok said, coming from behind me. “Once today was enough. Eat more. Shifting takes energy, lots of energy. You have a lot to learn.”

“I wish I didn’t like you,” I said, looking him in the eye. I felt his power, pushing at me, and I smiled. “I’m not ever going to lower my eyes.”

Bran grinned, eyes glowing gold. “Just glance away occasionally and I’ll convince my wolf not to eat you.”

“I’ll think about it.” I turned so we were shoulder to shoulder, taking the pressure off his wolf. “So, is the Marrok thing like my Hawkeye thing? Charles said your name was Bran.”

“You may call me Bran.” He took a drink of his beer. “The Marrok is a title that I wear to keep my pack in line.”

I nodded like I understood, but I didn’t, and it got me to thinking. “I saw you with Jim, and I know he told you my story, so… the Chicago wolves were…?”

“Out of line. Their alpha is dead. The rest of the pack is being relocated until I can knock some heads together. This feud is over.” Bran seemed bigger in that moment, more dangerous. “I owe you my life, and that’s not a small thing.”

“Well, I’d have killed you, but Jim shot you in the ass, and I felt sorry for you. Little wolf, there, ass full of pellets.” I teased him, knowing it was dangerous and enjoying the low growl I heard. “That black wolf was crazy.”

“He was all wolf, no human left in him. It happens.” Bran shrugged like it happened a lot, which was very unsettling. “He never should’ve hunted in my territory.”

Two of the elder Indians stiffened at those words, and I knew he’d stepped in it. Some part of me wanted to Jim to handle it, but this was my tribe now. “This isn’t your territory. Not your land. Not your people, and you sure as hell have no business hunting here either!”

Bran’s hand tightened on the beer bottle, and the crowd drew closer, listening, watching, and even the drums seemed to hush. “All the Alphas claim certain areas. It’s a way of keeping us from fighting, nothing more.”

Jim was suddenly just there. “No. The white man always had some excuse. Our spirits live here. Werewolves do not. You are welcome to visit, but this is not your place.”

“I’m Indian,” Charles said.

“Not of this tribe. You have your own place, and you may choose who you let claim it. We have made other choices.” Jim’s chin was high. “We have lost so much and so many, and you won’t take this from us. There is no negotiation. If one of our tribe becomes werewolf, we will send them to you, but your wolves aren’t welcome in our lands.”

The wolves were clustered now, and I stood with Jim, wishing for my bow. The rest of the tribe set up a cry, agreeing with him, and Bran stood silent. Then, he nodded. “It shall be done as you say.”

I blew out a breath of relief, and Samuel seemed to do the same. Dark settled upon us, and Betsy nudged my elbow. I rescued her from a pack of children and got her settled in her corral for the night. She leaned into the brushing, and I ended up stretched out on her back. I had a feeling the party would last all night. Betsy let me rest for a few minutes, and then went to get a drink. I rolled off with a flourish and strolled back to the party.

Someone had to keep an eye on the werewolves.

I woke up with fur in my mouth, curled around the enemy. The sun was raging high, my pants weren’t on my body, and a horse was nibbling my hair, again. I pushed Bran away, groaned loud enough to be heard in the house, and wished I had made better beverage choices, again.

Betsy picked up a pair of jeans from the ground nearby that looked suspiciously like mine and tossed her head. “Give me those, horse!”

She turned and trotted away towards her trailer with the feed inside. I pushed up to my knees, dry-heaved, and wondered why I’d ever bought that horse. Bran licked my face, and I stared at him in horror. “Really?”

He grinned like a wolf will. I vaguely remembered his sons leaving before the sun came up, and I had no idea why Bran hadn’t left as well. I staggered up, cursing, and stumbled to the trailer. Getting feed was hard in the bright sun, and Betsy was swinging those jeans around like a weapon. I finally plunked the bucket down, grabbed my jeans, and sat inside the trailer door to curse at her. She chewed. Once, she glanced at Bran and stamped her hoof.

Deciding I had to live after all, I clutched the jeans and slumped my way to the front of the trailer and my bed. I hit it hard, shut my eyes, and didn’t argue a bit when Bran stretched out on the floor next to me. I patted his furry ass and fell asleep.


	16. Chapter 16

Bran drifted and dozed, watching over the young thunderbird. His wolf wanted to eat the horse, even if it was a terrible idea. Hawkeye still had no idea what he was or his potential, but he’d learn fast. He was a survivor, and Charles had vowed to speak very firmly with the remaining members of the Chicago pack. Bran hoped they cried a little. He wasn’t sure why his wolf wanted to claim this circus brat, but there was something about him. Something strong, impossible to tame, that called kinship.

Charles had gone home to handle the Chicago wolves, and Samuel had taken Dominic’s body for a proper burial. Bran stretched and began to shift. He was hungry, and it was safer to feed the human than the wolf. He tugged a blanket over Hawkeye’s bare legs and pulled on some clothes he found, grinning at the bullseye on the shirt. Padding over to the house, he was thrilled to find Jim had made pancakes and bacon, and lots of both. The syrup was the real thing, and he was elbow to elbow with a table full of tribesmen, most of them older, retired but still vital.

“So, your wolves ate his brother?” a grizzled man at the end of the table asked.

Bran kept chewing, not wanting to talk with his mouth full. His wolf wanted to eat everything on the table and a couple of the men. He nodded, though, a concession to the truth.

“Then he killed them,” Jim said. “With his bow and silver-tipped arrows. I would’ve used a gun myself.”

“Arrows are quiet. Sneaky,” the man who smelled like hay on Bran’s left said. “You take them out. Nothing to trace.”

“But slow. You’ve got to get the arrow out and then put it on the string and then finally pull and release,” another man said. “Wolf could eat you before you got the first arrow out of your quiver.”

Those were all very good points. Bran put three pieces of bacon in his mouth to calm his wolf and thought about it.

“Ah, but he is a thunderbird,” the oldest man there said. “He stirs the wind with his power, and his eyes shoot lightning. If he is a good thunderbird, he will protect us from the evil fire demons. If he is a bad one, he might kill us all.”

The hair on the back of Bran’s neck stood straight up, and his wolf let out a soft howl.

“He can fire eight arrows in ten seconds, and his eyesight isn’t… human,” Jim said. “I know he’s a good one. Has he come to protect the world?” The question was phrased low and harsh, and the words made Bran shiver.

The men nodded and silverware clattered and coffee disappeared at an alarming rate. Bran finished another pancake and ventured an opinion. “Can he do it here on the reservation?”

“His destiny lies elsewhere. He is but resting.” The one they called Gordon Seeker strolled into the kitchen and stole a pancake from the pile. “My horse will miss him.”

Some of the tribesmen nodded, others shrugged, but Jim frowned. “He’s not ready.”

“Soon,” Seeker said. “Marrok, the fury comes for you.”

Bran’s wolf growled in anger at more interlopers, but Bran hushed him. “I suppose this week couldn’t get worse,” he grumbled.

“There is food in your belly, and you have seen a thunderbird. You are blessed,” the oldest said. He practically rolled his eyes.

“My apologies, elder. It has been long since I hungered and wandered alone,” Bran said, chastened and not remembering the last time he’d been set down. His wolf didn’t like it at all, but thankfully, his sons weren’t here to see it and laugh. He finished his plate, thinking he should probably buy some groceries before he returned home. “You’re certain you wish for me to withdraw my protection from this area? I won’t know if a rogue comes, if I do.”

“We are certain,” Jim said. “I know you are loath to give up territory.”

“Let’s just say I’m going to have to coax my wolf into it.” Bran thought it would take a while. “I will warn my pack to stay out, but there are always lone wolves, who listen only to their wolf spirit.” He’d call Adam sooner rather than later, as he was the closest alpha.

They all seemed to take him seriously. Seeker caught Bran’s eye and didn’t look away. “You have a task here, yet.”

Bran sipped his coffee. His beloved first mate would laugh at him, caught up in the business of thunderbirds. The phone rang, and he got to his feet. “That’ll be for me.”

No one questioned it, and Jim picked up the receiver to hand it to him. Bran controlled his growl. “Yes, Leah?”


	17. Chapter 17

My mouth felt like I’d eaten dirt, and my back felt like I’d slept in it. One eye refused to open, being crusted shut, and I sincerely hoped no werewolf came to eat me today because I’d roll over and show them my belly.

A plate of food appeared by my head, and I shoveled a pancake in my mouth and began to chew. Jim’s pancakes didn’t need syrup to be delicious, and my stomach needed something in it.

“Going to live?”

I mumbled something horrible while making sure I had all my arms and legs. Bran sat on the floor by the door, dressed in my clothes, fiddling with a basket. He looked harmless, but I had a hazy memory of his son telling me to be careful, don’t provoke him, that his wolf was terrible. Swallowing hard, I spotted the cup of coffee on the floor next to my bunk and claimed it. When the sludge cleared, I scrubbed my eyes open and found some words.

“Big, bad wolf, huh?”

“The baddest.” Bran turned the basket over and over. “There are still legends in Europe that feature my wolf.” He set the basket down and swiped one from the stack of pancakes. “I’m sorry about your brother.”

With a grunt, I managed to sit upright and moved the plate out of his reach. I took another sip and picked my next words carefully. “You guys look so awesome, you know? You live forever. You get the pretty girls.” I looked at my coffee, not him. “Barney wanted something good in his life, for once. We never had--.” I took a breath. “Anything.”

“I’m old, but I remember what that’s like.” Bran sounded honest. “We need the media to portray us in a positive light, not as--.”

“Killers?” I interrupted him, seeing his point but hoping he saw mine. “I see the little kids at the circus, playing werewolves.” I saw Bran wince, and I wasn’t sorry. “It’s glamorous. The werewolf sidekick is in every TV show now. Some werewolves strut and brag, and people like my brother. They can’t--.”

“Resist,” Bran interrupted me right back. I slurped down some more coffee, surprised I wasn’t furious. It hurt, but Barney had taken his own risk. I missed him, but I couldn’t kill every werewolf on Earth for him. Bran sighed, bringing my eyes back to him. “I’ll talk to the alphas, again, but you need to do something for me. Never tell anyone how many you killed, and never tell them how you did it.”

Slowly, I picked up another pancake and bit into it. His eyes were glowing gold, and I knew that meant his wolf was close, probably wanting to eat me. I shrugged and answered honestly. “I don’t want to talk about it, not ever. You have my word.” I hoped he believed me. “So, that werewolf with eyepatch? Nick Fury? Alpha of Shield? You know him?”

Bran was on his feet so fast that I missed him getting up. “No, and that’s what worries me.”

“How many werewolves are you the boss of? Fifteen? Twenty?” I hoped there weren’t any more than that in one pack.

“All of them. I’m the Marrok.” Bran seemed to get bigger, stronger, and I could see the wolf peeking out of his eyes.

“Huh,” I said stupidly. “You sure?”

“Positive.” Bran smiled, all teeth. “They all answer to me.”

I couldn’t even imagine a wolf strong enough to keep them all in line, but then again, Bran hadn’t done a great job in Chicago. As if he could read my thoughts, Bran sighed. “It’s a big country.”

I swallowed hard, glad he was on my side. “I’ll make sure my arrows are sharp.” I wasn’t even joking, and I could tell he knew it. Rolling up another pancake, I ate it with sharp bites, understanding that my time here was almost at an end and wishing I was wrong. There was no telling where I was headed next, but this farm was where a person went to retire or rest, not live their life. Sure, I’d be happy here for a while, and then I’d go batshit crazy. “I like regular meals.”

There was no answer because Bran had bounded off somewhere. I grabbed up the plate and coffee and went to share with Betsy. She liked pancakes, too. It turned out that Bug, the hen, liked them as well and for once, did not attempt to peck my toes. I supposed it was my fault for not wearing shoes often enough.

When the sunshine became intolerable, I got some clean clothes and headed inside to shower, but I took my bow and quiver with me, setting them down by the door. Jim was camped out with coffee and paper in his usual spot at the kitchen table. This time, there was a woman with him. She had a book and a mug that was steaming, head bent. There was an easy silence between them, and I was sure my face showed my surprise.

“What is it, Hawkeye?”

I opened my mouth to ask why he’d never introduced his wife when I noticed the sunlight went _through_ her. Choking on spit, I coughed out, “Your wife?”

Jim smiled, just a tiny turn of his lips, glancing at the chair next to him where she sat with her book. “I miss her still. Gone these five years from cancer. Did someone mention her?”

My mind went black, nothing made sense. I mumbled something incoherent, took my dishes to the sink, and looked again. She was gone, completely, cup and all. Face red, I hurried to the guest shower, trying not to have a nervous breakdown until I was behind a door. She was a ghost, a freaking ghost, sitting there clear as day. I’d seen steam rise from her cup and words in her book.

“Holy crap,” I muttered, shutting the door and locking it tight. “I saw a damn ghost.” My hands shook as I undressed. The hot water wasn’t any good at chasing away this new craziness in my life. Yesterday, I’d flown, and today I’d seen a ghost. God help me with tomorrow. I laughed at that idea. Like God had ever been interested in my problems.

Cleaner, I snapped off the water, dried in a hurry, redressed and bolted for my trailer without even looking in the kitchen. I threw my dirty clothes inside and swung open the gate. “Betsy! Let’s go for a ride.”

She came trotting out, willing enough, and I dug out some tack. Jim had lent me a good saddle, perfect for riding long distances in rough country, which this was, and I’d purchased a cheap hackamore during one of the trips to town with Calvin. I thought Betsy had missed her purple feather so I’d found a hawk feather in the grass to twine under her chin. She hadn’t ripped it off, so I figured she liked it.

I swung aboard, and we got moving towards nowhere fast. Betsy might’ve sensed my insanity because she moved into a canter, wind drying my hair and calming me down. A ghost was nothing, not compared to werewolves and Fae. Now, they were dangerous. Ghosts were harmless. I shivered.


	18. Chapter 18

The house was quiet when Bran padded out towards the kitchen, wondering where everyone was. Samuel had left him a cell phone, and Bran had spent the last thirty minutes talking to Adam, filling him in on the situation. No decisions had been made, but Adam knew to keep his wolves off the reservations. Neither of them was happy about it.

“Jim?” Bran found him standing near the back door. After a moment, Bran realized what Jim was staring down at and worry skipped up his spine. “Hawkeye left his bow.”

“I think he saw a ghost. My wife. He ran out of here, saddled his horse, and they galloped away.” Jim bit his lower lip, voice trembling slightly. “When I met Mercy, I didn’t believe skinwalkers could see ghosts. Hank and Fred Owens can’t.”

“They don’t want to see them,” Bran said. “Mercy thought they were living people for a long time. It’s a shock. He took off, huh?”

“He made himself a little camp, off in the woods, when he needs a minute of privacy, but he always takes his bow.” Jim cast a worried look at Bran before dropping his eyes. “No werewolves around, right?”

Bran nodded, but he didn’t like this either. “I’ll go check on him.” He stripped off his shirt. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“Seeker is out there somewhere, but the fury comes. The spirits are uneasy, upset.” Jim sounded very sure of this. “Hawkeye isn’t strong enough yet for what his future holds.”

Pushing down his jeans, Bran recognized the voice of foresight when he heard it. His wolf growled, aching for a fight, but Bran was afraid this future wasn’t a fight for him and his pack. Hawkeye would be facing this, whatever it was, and Bran made a promise to his wolf that they would do everything possible to help.

Focusing tightly, Bran tugged on a pack bond that was thinner than most, almost dusty with disuse. _Mercy, get your coyote skin on and come to me. I need your help. Tell Adam to stay home._ He could feel her surprise and a few minutes later, seething anger from Adam. She was on her way, and he let his wolf have his way. They’d go find Hawkeye, fast.

The scent was easy to find, and he loped that direction, knowing Hawkeye wouldn’t gallop for miles. He always took care of his horse. Bran’s wolf got pulled off track by a rabbit, and they had a quick bite to eat before continuing down the path. Hawkeye and Betsy were headed due west, towards the national park, and they weren’t going slow. Bran didn’t rush. It wouldn’t be a good idea to let his wolf think this was a real hunt. They were just out for a stroll. His wolf still wanted to eat Hawkeye’s horse, and facing two angry thunderbirds wasn’t something Bran ever wanted to do.

A grasshopper bounded in front of him, and he ate it, enjoying the crunchiness. The sun was starting to head west, and that made him realize that he had a week until the full moon. He had to be home by then, and his wolf was eager to run with his mate. His mate, not Bran’s, not really, but Bran was years past complaining about it. He loved Leah, sometimes. He just wished she were mated to someone other than him, and he was afraid his feelings showed far too often. Dropping into the pack bond, he checked on his wolves in Montana while he trotted along, finding everyone more or less fine. The new Chicago wolves weren’t stirring up too much trouble yet, and Bran would send them home as soon as he found them a competent alpha.

Thank all the gods the press didn’t know his wolves had hunted Hawkeye relentlessly, or this good werewolf charade would be over. They were monsters, and humans didn’t need to know that.

The wind shifted, bringing the scent of his prey to him. Bran clamped down on his wolf instincts, smelling Hawkeye’s fear and his horse’s nervousness. The horse, no doubt, knew she was being trailed, but Bran didn’t understand why Hawkeye was afraid.

A coyote singing made Bran stop and look back down the trail. His sharp eyes picked her up, moving fast, bouncing through the tall grass, tongue lolling. She was wearing one of those doggie backpacks, and Bran threw his head back to howl, calling her. He wished he had his phone to take a picture of her. She looked ridiculous, but he was sure Adam had insisted she take some clothes.

Mercy looked good, healed from her battle with the river monster, and Bran’s wolf was still a little angry he hadn’t gotten to bite that one. All of the sudden, her course changed, and the chase was on. Poor rabbit didn’t stand a chance, and Mercy greeted him by dropping the rabbit at his paws and licking his muzzle. They ate it together, and his wolf reveled in pack. She was his. As one, they turned and started down the trail left by the horse.

Who would taste delicious.

Bran sighed at his wolf. He wouldn’t want to face Charles, if he ate the incarnation of Horse. He’d seen the respect on his son’s face. Horse was, in some ways, the mother to them all. Anyway, she was old and stringy. His wolf doubted it.

They dipped down out of a pasture into more of a proper forest, tall pine trees, deadfall, and in the distance, the sound of trickling water. Bran picked up the pace, keeping an eye on Mercy and her backpack. If it got snagged, she’d be stuck, but she followed close, no doubt aware of the danger.

The sound of water grew louder, and Bran slowed down, not wanting to startle Hawkeye into doing something insane, like throwing a tree at them. Mercy might get hurt, and Adam would be very upset. Bran had quite a bit of experience with skinwalkers, and it never paid to underestimate their ability to cause chaos and injuries.

They emerged from the trees to see a sheltered stream that dribbled over a small cliff, rocks strewn about, downed trees, and the perfect place to put up camp. The horse neighed, loud and long, stamping her hoof at him again, but Hawkeye was nowhere to be seen. Bran slipped down to the stream and crouched down for a long drink. Rabbit made him thirsty. Mercy was right beside him. Bran could smell Hawkeye, but not see him.

“Is that a dog?”

Bran looked up, and Hawkeye was perched above them on a huge sideways tree. Mercy yipped, maybe a little surprised, and Bran sat down. Hawkeye skittered towards them, flipping and jumping until he was nose to nose with Mercy.

“Can I pet you?” Hawkeye put out his hand, not touching.

She stared into Hawkeye’s face and then glanced at Bran. Bran whispered in her mind. _He never drops his eyes._

Mercy wagged the tip of her tail and put her paw on Hawkeye’s hand. Bran would swear later that the world trembled as two of the most stubborn humans he’d ever met joined forces. His wolf grumbled a little, and then, off to the right, there was a crash. Bran jumped, gone after the deer in a flash. Now, that was a hunt.


	19. Chapter 19

I flinched when Bran took off after the deer, and the dog (wolf coyote?) whined, clearly wanting to go along on the hunt.

“It’s not really safe with you wearing a back pack,” I said. Slowly, I reached out, giving him a chance to back up, and when he didn’t, I stroked him. “What are you? A tiny werewolf? A werecoyote?”

He rolled out his tongue and sat down very close to me. It was great, but we were sitting on a damp spot. “Come on. I have a small camp.”

It wasn’t fancy, but over the last few weeks I’d snuck a few things out to make a camp where I could be alone. Earlier, I’d started a small fire, and I’d already made up my mind to spend the night out here. I had a sleeping bag on a tarp, tucked into a small overhang. There was water for Betsy, and I’d already stripped off her tack. The saddle made a good back rest, and her blanket was extra in case my feet got cold. Betsy seemed to like camping, too.

“Sun’s almost down.” I found a spot to sit on the sleeping bag, seeing the dog looking about with clear intelligence in his eyes. “Want me to take off your pack?”

One second later, I had a lapful of furball. Laughing, I found the clips and worked to get it off. I noticed he was wearing a thick chain with shiny things hanging from it. The instant the pack was off, he took a huge shake, fluffing out his fur. He grabbed up the bag with his mouth and disappeared around the backside of a tree. I didn’t peek, but I was curious.

A woman walked around the tree and smiled at me, tentative but not shy. The necklace dangled over her shirt, and I could see a wedding ring. “Hi, I’m Mercy Hauptman.”

“Clint Barton, everyone calls me Hawkeye.” I waved my hand up and down, more surprised than I wanted to show. “You took off your skin?”

“One way to put it. Yes.” The coyote was a she, and she was handsome like women are when they can kick your ass and enjoy doing it. She was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt too big for her. I scooched over a smidge more on the sleeping bag. “You can sit with me while we wait for Bran to kill stuff.”

She laughed and shrugged, hanging the backpack from a low-lying tree branch before sitting down and pulling her knees up to her chin. “My mate is a little peeved that I’m here alone.”

I got the message. _Don’t touch me._ “He’s a werewolf?”

“Adam Hauptman, Alpha of the Columbia River Basin pack.”

“The Adam that Hank shot in the chest?” I blurted. She growled softly, and I kept going. “Sorry! Calvin was telling me about this werewolf named Adam.”

“Scared the crap out of me. If the bullet had been silver, Adam would be dead.” She shivered. “Let’s not talk about it.”

“Sure.” I scrunched over an inch more. This was so awkward, and I couldn’t think of a reason why Bran would bring this woman out in the woods. “Are you a coyote? Tiny werewolf? Husky?”

“Coyote.” Mercy put her hands out towards the fire. “You smell…” She tilted her head.

“I showered!” I protested without thinking, and she laughed. After a second, I joined in and the ice between us was broken. “Seeker says I’m a chicken hawk. Not sure what the hell he means by it.”

Her eyes widened. “You know Gordon Seeker?”

“He’s my grandfather.”

She jumped to her feet and began pacing. Her mouth opened to say something, and I interrupted her before she got started, “I’m white. I know. Not possible. Seeker says I am though. Jim Alvin believes it, and once I turned into this bird-thing. A chicken hawk, I guess.” I ducked my head, not wanting to see her disgust and hoping she didn’t hate me like I suspected Calvin did.

“Hi, horse,” she said, getting my attention back straight away. Betsy was snuffling at her elbow, and Mercy didn’t make any sharp movements that might drive her away. “Did you know we were trailing you?”

I had the feeling she wasn’t talking to me. She stroked Betsy’s nose. “I like you, too.”

Betsy snorted and moved away to find a patch of grass. I fed a few twigs to the fire and waited. Mercy had things to say. She was just thinking it through. Turning back to me, she waved her hand up and down. “Show me.”

Not my best move, but I blinked at her. “What?”

“Shift. I want to see you.” She stared at me. “Bran brought me out here for something, so let me see it.”

For some reason, her tone made me shake my head. It wasn’t that I felt shy, just vulnerable, like she might bite me or something. “Not gonna do it.” I got to my feet and crossed my arms. “Who are you?” I hadn’t worried about my bow until now, but she was dangerous. It was in her walk and talk.

“You’ve got to start dropping your eyes. You’re going to get eaten,” Mercy said. “Every walker I’ve met is Indian, or half like me. I’m just skeptical.”

“My mother was Indian. I look like my dad.” I hated it, too. Looking like my father was a curse. “I met Charles and Samuel. You know them?”

“Yes,” she drawled. “Samuel recently moved out of my trailer. I’m shocked Charles didn’t kill you when Bran was hurt.”

“I’m shocked I didn’t kill Bran to begin with,” I growled. The dark started rolling in like it will do when a person is camping, and I was starting to think I should ride on home to Jim’s place. Betsy knew the way. “Jim doesn’t want werewolves on the reservation any longer. I guess you don’t count.”

Her eyes were expressive, angry and hard. She sighed. “Bran is going to have trouble with that, but he’s the Marrok.”

I fed the fire and tried not to look right at her. My experience with women was limited to the people in the circus. I’d never gone to town to find a whore like Barney had done. Sometimes, after the show, teenagers would crowd around me, asking for an autograph or wanting some attention, but this was different. She was close, pretty, smelled good, and didn’t seem to hate me, not yet.

“You know there’s no such thing as a chicken hawk, right? Seeker is messing with you.” Mercy relaxed her legs until she was sitting cross-legged. “You could be an eagle, but the smell isn’t quite right.”

“Sorry?” I was going to kick Seeker in the ass next I saw him. I was sure my face was red, but hopefully she couldn’t see it in the dark.

She tossed a stick in the fire. “Nice little camp. Aren’t you worried your horse will run off?”

“No.” All I’d wanted was some time away to get my head around the idea I’d seen a ghost. A real live ghost, well, not alive, but right there in the kitchen ghost, Jim’s wife, or so I could only believe. I had no idea why Bran had come after me or brought this coyote woman along with him. Rubbing my face, I realized again that she was a skinwalker like me, except not a bird. She probably knew everything. Almost scared, and thinking of beating my head with a stick, I ventured, “When did you find out you were a coyote?”

There was a short pause. “Well, I always knew. Bran said I used to shift in the crib, turn right into a puppy. My mom couldn’t handle it, and that’s why Bran’s pack raised me.”

“Oh.” I knew I sounded like an idiot, but all I could picture was me turning into a baby bird in the crib and my dad cooking me for dinner. “I found out yesterday,” I whispered, not sure I wanted her to know how dumb I was.

Her head whipped around, eyes wide even in the firelight. “Yesterday?” she yelped.

I nodded, unsure if she was laughing at me or just shocked. “Seeker pushed me out of the barn window, and I flew, some, not much.”

“He would do that, and good job on not dying.” She pivoted on her rear so she was facing me. I ducked my face away, not needing to see what she was thinking. “I’m sorry. I know you’re still in shock, but you need to understand that the Marrok, Bran, is like a father to me, and he almost died. The packs – all of them – were freaking out, and all we knew was that some skinwalker nearly killed him.”

Shocked at having misjudged her, obviously she did already hate me, I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t _try_ to kill werewolves.” I made sure to look right in her eyes. “I kill them.”

There was no telling what she’d have said, and she might’ve punched me from the look on her face, but Betsy neighed loud enough to be heard in the next county. Mercy flinched, and Bran appeared by jumping over a log. There was blood all over him, and his mouth was stuffed full of what looked like the back end of a deer. Most people would’ve run screaming. I stood there and stared. He raised his wolf eyebrows.

“Bran says to stop fighting and cook the meat,” Mercy grumbled. “Pretty sure he meant me, not you. I brought you some clothes, old wolf.”

Bran almost delicately put the bloody mess in my hands. I stared down at it. “Um, thanks? Couldn’t you have gone for McDonald’s?” But I was hungry and my stomach was interested, after it cooked, completely.

“I get the feeling Bran’s wolf likes you, and that’s the weirdest thing that’s happened in this crazy year.” Mercy started working on the fire, doing things I didn’t quite understand, having survived on peanut butter most of my life. Stupidly, I eased to my feet and held the dripping meat away from my clothes. Bran snatched the back pack and disappeared again into the woods.

“He’ll be cranky when he comes back. Don’t look him in the eye if you want to live.” Mercy was doing something with sticks. “It’d be easier just to shift and eat it raw,” she muttered.

That was something I hadn’t considered, and I could easily see my bird eating a rabbit. Bran’s arrival had broken the anger between us, but I wasn’t going to apologize. I hadn’t even tried to kill Bran, or he’d be dead, not that his adopted daughter needed to know that. I was sure her coyote teeth were sharp, and I didn’t have my bow. I vowed to buy a special bow and quiver, just to hang on the saddle so I’d never be without one again.

Betsy strolled closer, grabbing my attention, and she was side-eyeing the handfuls of dead deer. I sighed and held it out to Mercy. “Don’t make yourself work on my account. You can shift and eat it. I’m not even that hungry. Bran brought me pancakes this afternoon when I got up, not that I always get up in the afternoon, but last night was a great party. Jim makes amazing pancakes.” I was sure my face was beet red from all the babbling. Women were hard. That was why I’d always stayed away from them.

She glanced up, surprise on her face. “You’d go without.”

“Nothing new.” I shrugged. “I usually bring a few things when I come out here, but…”

“You saw a ghost,” Bran said, still pulling on a shirt, but the important parts were covered.

Denying it was impossible, but I wished I could have. “I’m not crazy,” I said, trying to sound sure.

“Of course not. I see them all the time. It’s one of the things that skinwalkers can do. Once or twice, ghosts have given me a hand.” Mercy never looked at me or Bran, still fiddling with the fire. “So to speak.” She grinned. “Are you full, Bran?”

“He was delicious.” Bran grinned, all teeth and attitude, and I flashed back to that alley on the outskirts of Chicago when the werewolves had eaten Barney. He’d been delicious, too. I nearly threw the meat at Bran’s head, but he was suddenly there, skewering it and arranging it over what was now a crackling fire. There was blood all over my hands, and I shuddered. Without a word, I went towards the small waterfall to wash up. Betsy was right at my elbow, and I knew she was keeping an eye out for me.

I couldn’t hear them talking about me, but I knew they were. My crappy ears didn’t pick up low voices, and I didn’t care. Ghosts and werewolves and giant birds that turned into crazy old men: I wanted nothing more than to go back to being a circus freak. The water was ice-cold, and I scrubbed away the blood, wishing I could do the same with my memories. Barney hadn’t been a bad guy. No one deserved what he’d gotten. I splashed water on my face, shutting my eyes.

Nights alone, sleeping on top of my trailer, nothing but another show in my future seemed like a walk in the park compared to now. Werewolves, nothing but furballs, and I had a feeling I’d better get used to it. Fury hadn’t looked like the kind of guy to give up, and if Seeker said the fury was coming, then he was. Seeker was nuts, but he was never wrong.

I opened my eyes, and it was like my world settled around me. Betsy, head high, seemed to shimmer, and for one pure second, I saw a woman, dressed in white leathers, gray hair, and her eyes were fierce, proud. She nodded, and I blinked. The wind teased at my hair, and she was a horse, nibbling at a tiny patch of grass.

“You okay, Hawkeye?”

Wiping my hands on my jeans, I remembered that moment when my wings snapped out and I caught the wind. Betsy was right. I was going to fly so high, with a little practice and a little bit of help.

“Fury is coming, Bran. Will you help me get ready?” I heard a note in my voice that hadn’t been there this morning. “Please?” I wasn’t begging, but the Marrok, leader of all the werewolves, deserved politeness because that was a shit job.

He looked me right in the eye, hesitated, and then nodded. “I’ll teach you about werewolves, and Mercy will explain about skinwalkers. You’ll have to learn to fly on your own.”

“I’m not dropping my eyes, not for any furball on the planet.” I started back to the fire, hoping the meat was less raw when I ate it.

“I didn’t say it was going to be easy.”


	20. Chapter 20

Long before he heard the blades of the helicopter, Bran had an uneasy feeling that his time here was done. Tomorrow, the moon would be full, and he would run with his pack. Mercy had gone home yesterday, declaring that Hawkeye knew everything she did, and that she was tired of his sass. Bran had laughed about that for hours.

This close to a full moon, his wolf grumbled about everything, spoiling for a fight. Hawkeye still refused to look down, but he compromised by turning to the side. It was barely enough to satisfy the alpha wolf who raged inside Bran. Part of the problem was that Bran’s wolf had staked a claim on Hawkeye, and Bran had no idea why.

The shutting of the kitchen door made Bran look that way, and Seeker grabbed a cup of coffee before sitting near Bran at the table. “Marrok, I would allow Hawkeye to join your clan.”

Bran narrowed his eyes. “I’m pretty sure Hawkeye will say no to that.” He wasn’t sure exactly what Seeker had in mind.

Seeker sipped his coffee, eyes glinting. “If you do not claim him, the fury will.”

Bran’s wolf roared in anger, and he jerked away from the table, going out the back door, careful not to rip the door to pieces. Hawkeye was on his feet, balancing on his horse as she trotted in a wide circle outside her usual corral. It wasn’t unusual to see that, except that he usually wore clothes. Bran tilted his head as she picked up speed, and when she was galloping full out, Hawkeye let out a tremendous whistle. She dug in her hooves and kicked up her back legs, launching him into the sky.

Hawkeye shifted, and Bran rolled his eyes as the thunderbird took flight. Mercy had gone home because she couldn’t bear to see someone besides herself be an idiot. Bran had noticed that Hawkeye wasn’t afraid to jump off anything. Once, he’d jumped off the roof of the porch, forgotten to shift, and landed hard in the dirt. Mercy had panicked, dashing to him where he was sprawled on the ground, laughing. She’d kicked him in the shin.

The young thunderbird soared ever higher, and Betsy galloped underneath him. Bran wondered if she’d catch him if he fell, but he didn’t.

“I did well making that one.” Seeker chuckled. “I may be old, but I still got it.” He pointed to the south. “The fury is here.”

Bran took a deep breath, and he could hear the helicopter. His wolf snarled. They were ready. He wished he had better clothes on, not bare feet and torn up jeans, but dominance wasn’t about clothes. “You go keep Jim and his shotgun out of this fight.”

Seeker laughed, and Bran went out to meet the helicopter setting down in the pasture. He concentrated, hoping he got through, and sent – _Hawkeye, don’t shift. Land on the barn._ Bran hoped Hawkeye was in the mood to listen.

The blades began to slow as soon as it touched down. Military-grade helicopter, capable of carrying multiple people, and Bran struggled to contain his wolf, who wanted to kill them all. The door slid open, and a tall man, dressed entirely in black, black duster swirling around him, got out, striding towards him, not even ducking for the blades. Bran’s nose told him he was facing an old wolf, powerful, but he had only seen one other with scars. The wolf’s eye was covered, scars radiated out from under a patch, a nasty wound.

“Well, aren’t you a little under-dressed for the king of the werewolves?”

Bran growled. “Hawkeye is under my protection.”

“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t need it. How many of your wolves did he kill again?” The man flashed a toothy grin. “Nick Fury, Alpha of Shield.”

“Bran Cornick, the Marrok,” Bran snapped out. “You’re in my territory, and by that, I mean the entire United States, Canada and Mexico. Give me a reason not to let my wolf handle this.”

Fury tucked his fist into his back, having the effect of showing off his gun. “Shield operates outside your pack laws. We were the SSR back during WW2, ended up shifting our operation to Europe. Back then, we only had two werewolves. I have a few more, now.”

They didn’t lock eyes, but each one looked for a weakness. Bran had known there were a few werewolves in the government who weren’t in his pack, but an entire agency was a step too far. “We should settle this right now.”

“Believe it or not, I have no damn desire for more wolves. My territory is the planet, plain and simple. Shield goes where we’re needed. I can’t have my men worrying about some backwoods alpha in Montana.

“But that’s neither here nor there, Hawkeye agreed to work for me. A car is coming to pick him up. Get him packed.”

Holding his wolf down was two seconds from impossible. Bran could feel his jaw starting to shift. Fury looked at him, calm and cool, smelling of guns, blood, and pain. The only way to resolve this was to fight.

The cry of a thunderbird brought Bran to a stop, and Hawkeye flew right up to drop down heavy on Bran’s shoulder. He was far from light, but Bran took the weight with a grunt.

“Hello, Hawkeye. Are you ready to go to work?”

Before Bran opened his mouth, Seeker stepped to his side. “He needs two more weeks here. There are things to settle. Then, he will go with you.”

“Seeker!” Bran’s fury came back strong.

“The Shield is where Hawkeye’s destiny lies, but he must finish preparing here.” Seeker raised his fist and everyone flinched as lightning struck the ground near the helicopter. “Hawkeye is under the Marrok’s protection. Will you honor this?”

Fury glared at all of them. He rested his hands on his hips. “My pack isn’t going to eat him.”

Bran pulled on the power of his pack and forced his will outwards. Fury’s one eye began to blaze gold, and Hawkeye spread his wings, snapping his beak. The war of dominance raged, and it was Fury who blinked. He shrugged. “Two more weeks is nothing, but I’m leaving the Heart of my pack here to bring Hawkeye in, and you are going back to bumfuck Montana. Bad enough I have to deal with a goddamn spirit!”

A neigh so loud it hurt Bran’s ears rolled over them all, and Betsy galloped up, came to a quick stop, and flashed her back hooves at Fury’s head. He never moved.

“Great. Another one. You have my word as alpha. We’re going to look after Hawkeye. We need his help.” Fury turned on his heel, giving them all his back as if none of them were dangerous, and strode back to his helicopter. The blades picked up speed, and he lifted off.

Hawkeye dropped off Bran’s shoulder and shifted. Bran threw back his head and howled his rage at the world. Seeker put his hand on Betsy’s shoulder. “Hush, old woman. Your son is nearly ready to leave the nest.”

Betsy snapped her teeth at him, and Bran helped Hawkeye to his feet. “Get dressed. Fury’s leaving his Heart here. That in itself speaks to his integrity.”

“Why don’t I ever know what’s going on?” Hawkeye grumbled, cursing and bolting naked for his trailer.


	21. Chapter 21

Saying goodbye to Bran hurt, a little, not much, but some. He was the first werewolf I hadn’t killed, and I liked him, some, not much, but he’d taught me a lot, and I appreciated it. I was happy he wouldn’t be wearing my clothes any longer.

“Okay, stop hugging me. I’m a monster, remember?” Bran tugged one of my ears.

“Fine.” I stepped back and glared. “Have fun killing stuff.”

Bran grinned. “You know you’re ready.”

“I liked the circus,” I growled.

“You like shooting stuff.” Bran stripped off my shirt and tossed it to me. “I’m going to shift in your trailer. Give Jim my thanks.”

“Thank him by keeping your wolves out of his reservation.” I sniffed the shirt and made a face. “Furballs.” I only had one more thing to say. “Bye.”

Betsy needed grain, and I went to do that instead of worrying about organs on the floor of my living space. She didn’t mind me brushing her, and I waved when the gray werewolf shot by, running full out. If he kept that pace, he’d be home for dinner.

Swinging her head to bump me and stomping her hoof, Betsy reminded me of the werewolf I was ignoring. He was standing about four feet off her corral, sunglasses and a tie, wearing a suit I was willing to bet cost more than I’d made last year. It made me want to throw horse shit at him. Funny thing was: he didn’t look much like a wolf. Receding hairline, craggy jaw, and crooked lips: he looked about forty years old, too old to be a werewolf. He’d arrived in a rental car not long after helicopter took off. I didn’t think he’d seen me naked, but anything was possible.

I walked by him without a word and went in the house. Seeker had pulled his usual disappearing act, and I found Jim in the living room, shot gun across his lap. Instead of talking, I flopped down in a chair and blew out a heavy sigh.

“The Marrok has gone home?”

“Yeah,” I grumbled. I hooked my thumb at the corral. “New wolf. One of Fury’s. He’s here to make sure I’m ready in two weeks.”

“There is a hotel not more than forty minutes from here.” Jim caressed his gun.

“I like the way you think, Uncle.” I might’ve blushed, not having called him that before. “I’m still not sure about working for Shield. They want a sniper.”

“Don’t do anything that you can’t live with.” Jim leaned forward and patted my knee. “You are destined for great things, little thunderbird.”

Shocked, my mouth fell open. “What? Thunder what?” I surged to my feet. “Thunderbirds are cars!”

“Seeker is Thunderbird. This is why you need two more weeks. You weren’t raised in the tribe.”

I wanted to pull my hair. “I’m not a car!”

Jim laughed and eased to his feet. His knees bothered him, but I wouldn’t dream of insulting him by extending my hand. I trudged after him out to the yard where the werewolf suit was still standing in the same place I’d left him. Bug was threatening his shiny shoes, and he wasn’t cracking any expression at all.

“I am Jim Alvin,” Jim said, extending his hand. “And my cousin, Clint Barton.”

“Agent Phil Coulson.” He shook our hands, not too tight. “With the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.”

“Should’ve called it Werewolves in Suits,” I grumbled.

“Shield is a better acronym,” Coulson said. “We should talk. I have paperwork for you to sign.”

“I will call a lawyer I know,” Jim said, and they both saw a tiny shift in Coulson’s face.

“As long as your lawyer signs a non-disclosure agreement, I agree.” Coulson turned towards the house, as if he wanted to go inside.

“Then we will see you tomorrow. Fury gave Hawkeye two weeks to prepare. We will need every day of it,” Jim said. “Hawkeye, make sure Agent Coulson finds his way to the road.”

I grinned, liking Jim’s attitude. Coulson might’ve grimaced, but he turned for his car without complaining or threatening to eat us. I paced alongside beside him after scoping up Bug. “Aren’t you going to tell me not to look in your eyes?”

Coulson stopped with his hand on the door handle. “Would you do it?”

“No.”

“I hate wasting time.” He glanced up at the noon sun. “I was led to believe you had no family and several outstanding warrants for your arrest.”

“You planned to intimidate and blackmail me into signing a contract. Guess you need time to come up with something else?” I stroked a finger down Bug’s head, hating SHIELD already. “Don’t come early. I usually sleep until noon.” Without another word, I hot-footed it for the barn, stripping off my clothes as I went. I tossed open the hay door and jumped out, shifting and gliding after the car, bumping down the track to the road.

It wasn’t mature, but I felt better after I sent Coulson on his way with a dirty windshield. Banking, I made another pass to tag the back window and then flew home. Home. I had one and not just a trailer. I had a tribe. It felt damn odd. Screaming, I buzzed the house and landed back inside the barn. I re-dressed, fed Bug and the other chickens, and trotted over to the house with lunch on my mind. Jim was in the kitchen, I tried to not make eye contact with his dead wife, who was standing by the sink with a dish towel over her shoulder.

“Did you shit on his car?”

“Maybe.” I was glad to see the bacon coming out of the fridge. Taking a deep breath, I took a bigger leap than the one from the barn. “Could I… maybe…” I swallowed hard. “Move in the house?”

Jim turned, surprise on his serious face. “I thought you were determined to freeze to death?”

The truth forced its way past my teeth. “I thought you were going to make me leave. I didn’t want to…” I stopped, unable to continue. Jim put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. Then he curled his hand around my neck and pulled me in for a quick hug. I tried to keep breathing.

“You will always have a home here. You are my family.” Jim rapped me on the head. “Even Calvin likes you.”

With a grunt, I jerked my head out of his reach. “I doubt it. Please don’t sell my horse while I’m gone.”

“Seeker would kill me. Betsy will wait for you. We expect you home at Christmas. There is a big pow-wow at the school gym. I’ll need your help with the drumming.”

Part of me unclenched. “I’m still really white.”

“You are tribe, and your hair is darkening up nicely.” He scrubbed it. “Let’s make some bacon sandwiches.”

“Lots of them.”


	22. Chapter 22

“You lied to me, Nick,” Phil said, tugging off his tie with one hand and tossing it on the chair. He eyed the bed, disliking the things he could smell on the bed cover. Actually, the entire hotel smelled horrible.

“A lack of intel isn’t lying.” Fury sighed. “I have no idea who those old guys were, or how the Marrok got involved with this. I intended to shove him in your car. Plans changed.”

“Two weeks? You realize I didn’t even pack a toothbrush? This is the farthest thing from a quick extraction that I’ve ever seen.” Phil was irritated, and he hoped Fury knew it. “How about I come back in thirteen days?”

“No,” Fury snapped. “Hawkeye might go to ground. Get the paperwork in order. Start the early assessment of a newly acquired asset. You know how filling out forms makes your wolf happy.”

Phil rolled his eyes at the mention of his wolf. “I hate new assets. You know this.”

“I need you on this one, or we’re gonna lose him. That can’t happen. I’ll send Maria to your place. She’ll overnight you a bag.” Fury wasn’t backing down, and it was annoying.

Sighing, Phil hated his life. “There’s no WIFI at this hotel.”

“Good god, man, you are in hell.” Fury laughed.

Phil got a towel from the bathroom and put it on the bed so he could sit. “He was holding on to the Marrok like a lover. I thought he hated werewolves.”

“The Marrok has a mate.” Fury sounded sure of that. “Barton has killed more werewolves than are in his file. Don’t underestimate him, Heart.”

“Stop with that.” Phil rolled in his eyes. “I’ll be careful. Can I just kidnap him? They’re talking lawyers.”

“Shit.” Fury punched something. It was easy to hear. “Shoot him in the leg if you have to, but get him here.”

“And if he wants to bring his horse?” Phil wasn’t surprised that Fury hung up on him. Offering a wanted fugitive a better life at SHIELD was a far distance from convincing a man with family a chance to die somewhere for a good cause. Werewolves lasted at SHIELD. Humans weren’t as sturdy, no matter how many precautions they took.

His stomach growled, and this hotel was a far cry from one that had room service. He’d go get drive-thru, but his car was covered with bird shit. He’d only caught a glimpse of the eagle that had nailed him. For some reason, he wanted to blame Hawkeye for that. Maybe the young man went by Clint. Phil had a true lack of information, and that was annoying. He went to wash up, and then he’d walk to the nearest diner. Hopefully, there’d be WIFI.


	23. Chapter 23

My eyes were crusted shut, but I knew I needed to feed Betsy, so I got up, took four steps, and hit a wall. Then, I fell over a chair. The floor hurt, and I flailed, managing to kick over a table.

“Hawkeye!” Jim flipped on the lights.

“Where the hell am I?” I asked, rubbing at my blind eyes. “None of this is right.”

“You’re inside your bedroom. In the house.” Jim helped me get to my feet and sit on the bed. “I thought you were joking about the allergic to houses thing.”

“I’m inside? Is Betsy okay?” I felt confused and tired. I remembered trying to fall asleep, but not actually doing it. “Houses are weird.”

“Betsy is fine.” Jim began to pick up furniture and put it back in its spot. “No, don’t help. I only want to do this once. Sit there and breathe.”

“What if the werewolves come? I won’t hear them,” I said, more panicked than I liked. “They’ll eat us,” I whispered, quivering like someone had walked over my grave.

“You need more sleep.” Jim shoved at me and got me back under the covers. “I have my shotgun. I think Betsy is on patrol outside the door.”

“She’s a good horse,” I mumbled, yawning. “This bed is so soft.”

“Sleep, little bird,” Jim said, shutting off the light but leaving the door open. I must’ve fallen asleep again because the next thing I knew, I could smell coffee, which I’d grown fond of since I got here. Jim’s coffee was amazing, and he didn’t mind if I loaded it up with sugar and cream. He did mind if I drank from the carafe, but that had been an emergency. Stretching, there was plenty of sunshine in this room. Blue walls, furniture, and an actual closet: I felt like I was at a fancy hotel, except that Jim insisted this was my room now. He’d taken down a picture and we’d hung my recurve over the bed.

A home without wheels, and I really should thank Seeker again. Throwing back the quilt – a real quilt made by the sister of my grandmother – I put my feet on the floor and rubbed the gunk from my eyes just in time to see Jim’s dead wife drift in the open door. She frowned at me, and I sighed. She’d taken to bossing me around lately, and if she was unhappy, I’d better get downstairs. I grabbed up my jeans and pulled on a hoodie. The weather was more fall than summer, and I might break down and put on socks soon.

“Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled at the ghost. Quietly, I padded down the stairs and peeked around the corner. Jim was having coffee with a werewolf. No trouble, then, none at all. The wolf looked up into my eyes, no sunglasses today, and I realized I’d have to be a lot stealthier in the future. I came down as if I hadn’t been spying and headed right for the back door.

“Coffee?” Jim asked.

“Betsy,” I said, shoving my feet into my Converse and hurrying. She whinnied when she saw me, and I jogged. “Sorry, sorry. The whole sleeping in a house thing screwed me up. The bed was soft, and when I got up to feed you, I hit the wall.” I pointed at my forehead, sure there was a red mark. “Then Jim insisted I sleep some more.”

Betsy swished me hard with her tail. “I know. I’m a screw up.” I gave her a little extra grain, put the bucket down fast before she found an excuse to step on me, and grabbed up her brush. She was filthy, and I didn’t rush. My stomach could wait, and I might’ve forgotten to watch my back until Betsy stretched her neck behind me and snapped her teeth.

I flipped around and pressed my back into her hide. “Give a guy some warning!”

“I said your name twice,” Coulson said. His sunglasses were back. “Mr. Alvin said you usually spent some time with your horse, so I thought we could talk.”

Betsy presented her head to be rubbed, and I did that. It was easier than arguing with her. “So talk. Or did you want to threaten me?” I’ll admit I wished I’d grabbed my bow off the wall.

“Talk.” Coulson didn’t step closer. He might’ve even edged away from my horse. “Shield basic training isn’t going to be easy. Are you physically fit?”

Shocked at the direction he was going, I blinked. “Okay, deal’s off. I’m not doing basic training with a bunch of goddamn werewolves.” I vaulted up and over Betsy, heading to the barn to feed the chickens and the other horses. Basic training? Damn werewolf had lost his mind. There was no way a human, even one as good as me, could keep up. I’d be eaten alive, maybe literally. When I turned from the grain bin, he was behind me again, sneaky wolf. “Aren’t you supposed to have more hair?”

Coulson didn’t smile or frown. “I was changed late. My hair hasn’t figured it out, yet.”

“What are you, a hundred? Two hundred?” I put the grain in their tub and threw the horses some hay. “Bran looked about eighteen, but he’s ancient, or so they said.”

“The Marrok is quite old, or so I’ve heard.” Coulson didn’t answer the question. “Agents have to be able to run and fight, or they usually get killed.”

I put my hands on my hips and stared at him, trying to provoke a growl or something. He didn’t even grumble. It gave me a chance to really look at him. He wasn’t handsome like Bran, but he was a good-looking man. I wondered why he’d drawn this shit job. “Why did Fury call you his heart?”

“You’re full of questions.” Coulson eased forward two steps. “If you don’t look down for the dominant wolves, they’ll attack you.”

“Well, then, Shield will have a few less agents.” I grinned. “If Fury can’t keep his wolves under control, he shouldn’t be alpha.”

Coulson shrugged. “Not that simple. Which you know.” He turned and left the barn. I stared after him for a long moment, watching him move. The guy was dangerous, even if he didn’t growl or puff up his chest. Grumbling about furballs, I finished my chores, made sure Betsy was inside the corral and promised her a ride later. She didn’t look impressed at the idea. My stomach really wanted food now, so I jogged to the back door.

Coulson was back at the kitchen table, armed with a briefcase, piles of paper, and a laptop. I went to wash up. No reason to smell like a horse. When I came out, Jim was flipping grilled cheese sandwiches, and my mouth watered. I helped by getting a plate and standing by the stove until it was piled high. Jim poured me a glass of milk to go with it, and I scooted to the table with glee in my heart. Coulson didn’t even ask for one, proving that he wasn’t smart at all. I wasn’t going to offer him one. We weren’t friends.

“Our lawyer, John Thundercloud, will be here soon,” Jim said.

“The guy with my truck?” I didn’t talk with my mouth full. I wasn’t a savage. “How’s his mom?”

“She is much better.” Jim nodded. “Agent Coulson feels a lawyer is unnecessary.”

“Well, I haven’t reviewed many contracts since I graduated 4th grade.” I didn’t imagine the slight widening of Coulson’s eyes, and it was the first sign that he wasn’t some sort of wax figure. “Do I get paid? Vacation days? Can I quit whenever I want? Do they promise not to eat me?”

“The first thirty days we can guarantee you won’t be consumed by hungry werewolves,” Coulson said. “After that, no promises.”

“The Yakama Nation will frown heavily on Shield if Hawkeye is eaten,” Jim said, and he sounded serious, but I could see a glimmer of humor in his eye. “Chewed up a little is fine.”

“Glad we can draw parameters.” Coulson stole a sandwich off my plate, and I yowled, pulling my plate to my chest and glaring at the thieving wolf. Jim almost smiled, and I could tell he didn’t dislike Coulson.

“I miss Bran. He ate his own food,” I mumbled around a bite or two. “Even if he did steal my clothes.”

“It’s a full moon. He went home to run with his pack,” Coulson said, eating almost delicately, not stuffing his face like I was.

“Don’t you want to run with your pack?” Jim asked the question I was thinking around a mouthful of cheesy goodness.

“The townspeople wouldn’t have appreciated it.” Coulson didn’t sound upset, but I knew from what Bran had told me that werewolves shifted whether they liked it or not. Some hotel in town had hosted a pacing werewolf last night, and I sorta felt… guilty, damn it.

Jim glanced at me, eyebrows up, and I gave him my saddest eyes, asking him to find a reason for Coulson to stay tonight. “Perhaps you and Hawkeye could go hunting tonight. Mrs. Landon could use some meat in her freezer this winter,” Jim said.

I had the feeling that Coulson was careful not to react, and I was, too. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and opened his mouth to turn Jim down. I scoffed, “He doesn’t hunt. He’s a city wolf. Suits and lattes. He probably has a tiny jacket for his cell phone when he switches.”

“Would she like deer meat or human?” Coulson asked, smooth as silk, not missing a beat.

“Deer is fine,” Jim said. I grinned bread and cheese and used the back of my arm to wipe my mouth to annoy him. Getting up, I downed the milk and put my plate in the sink.

“Don’t sell me into slavery while I’m in the shower, Jim,” I said, not looking at either of them.

“I don’t carry change,” Coulson said.

Jim laughed, and I pretended I hadn’t heard. I doubted the suit could hunt, but at least I didn’t have to picture him stuck in a hotel, watching Animal Planet and whining.


	24. Chapter 24

Phil tried not to watch Hawkeye – Clint? – beat a retreat up the stairs, but it was impossible not to, and he needed some fresh air. His wolf even perked up, making sure Phil noticed every detail of Hawkeye’s backend. There was a full moon, but there was no excuse for that. “I’m going out to make a phone call. Thank you for the sandwich.”

“You are brave to steal from Hawkeye. He likes shooting werewolves in the ass.”

“It worries me that you’re not joking.” Phil got to his feet and beat it out the back door. He had his phone in his hand before his foot hit the bottom step. Hawkeye’s horse turned her back on him, and he went to lean on the hood of his rental car. At least, the bird shit was gone. He’d had plenty of time this morning to find a car wash. A bag had arrived from SHIELD, and he had clean underwear now, but he was going to talk to Maria about appropriate choices when he got back to civilization. Captain America boxers were weekend wear only. He punched the icon harder than necessary.

“You gonna call every day for the next two weeks?”

“I might. Did you know he has a fourth grade education? Were you aware that he refuses basic training because there will be werewolves there?” Phil tried hard not to snap.

“Yes, and do you blame him? They’d kill him. He’s uneducated, not an idiot.” Fury sighed. “Have you managed to weasel your way into the house? Some on-site observing would negate a lot of these phone calls.”

“We’re going hunting tonight, but Jim Alvin won’t extend an invitation. He’s too protective.”

“Make a bid for the barn. Your wolf won’t mind.”

“The horse might stomp me to death,” Phil muttered. “You’re no help. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Fury hung up.

Phil put the phone in his pocket so he didn’t break it. He’d been promised an easy pickup, a quick ride to the airport, and then back to his office. Fury lied and lied. Phil rubbed his forehead and shut his eyes to concentrate on his wolf. His wolf was stubborn, quiet, and not given to bursts of temper. Not given to bursts of any strong emotion, really. Shy was a good word to describe his wolf, but he’d been staring at Hawkeye, and they needed to be on the same page there.

Dealing with dominants sometimes made him feel like he was entirely different species, and he had nothing in common with submissives either. They were so nice that it made him irritable. He knew a lot of dominants whose wolf was right there twenty-four seven, but he had to go looking for his. Being an omega meant he was a different kind of werewolf, and it was never easy. He took a deep breath and listened. His wolf curled a little tighter, and he nudged. Phil’s stomach twisted at a sudden onslaught of want, and he had to lean over to put his hands on his knees. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

“This is a bad decision!” he ground out, hoping his words would make his wolf listen. His wolf made him howl, soft and low, and his heart ached. “No, you can’t do this to us!”

His wolf roared, filling his heart and mind with desire, need, and a desperate longing. He folded right to the ground, leaned his head against the side of the car, and hugged himself tightly. So close to moonrise, he had to fight to stay in human form. “No,” he whispered, but it was far too late for denials. His wolf had chosen a mate, without consulting him, without even the courtesy of asking, and now they were going to have to find a way to live with it. Years they’d been alone, and perfectly happy, this wasn’t how it was done, damn it.

“Do I need to call a doctor?”

Embarrassment added to the pile of emotions he was dealing with, and he looked up, wishing he could disappear. She smiled in way that was probably meant to be reassuring. “We can get a doctor.”

“No! I’m fine.” His pride made him try to stand, and she took him by the elbow to help. She was short, dressed in white leathers, the kind Indians in books wore with beaded decorations, and he noticed she even had on authentic moccasins. Her hair was pure white, almost shiny, braided down her back, and her eyes were brown.

“Do you need me to get Hawkeye?” she asked, voice soft and low. “He’s almost done with his shower.”

Phil didn’t ask her how she knew that. “I’m okay.” He took a deep breath. “The full moon,” he said, trying to make a complete sentence, “it’s not good, at times.”

She nodded like that made sense. “Go inside. Sit down. Rest a minute.”

He wasn’t sure he should or that his legs would hold him that far. “Let me get a few things from my car.”

She gave him a hand to get the door open – she was very strong – and he thanked her as he sat down heavily and leaned his head back to shut his eyes and give his wolf a piece of his mind. His wolf refused to even growl, and he thought he should thank her. Opening his eyes, he blinked, craning his neck to look around the entire car.

No one was there. A couple of chickens ran by and Hawkeye’s horse swished her tail not far from the trailer, but that was it. Phil frowned. “I should tell Hawkeye his horse is out,” he muttered, shoving at his wolf again and getting nothing but misery. Before he could think of what to do next, his phone rang, and he cringed as he answered it. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t make me fly out to butt fuck nowhere, again!” Fury snarled. “If you can’t handle this job, I’ll send Sitwell. He’s asked twice already. He’s eager to get his hands on Hawkeye.”

“No!” Phil snapped, and his wolf snarled, too. “My job. Mine!” He hoped he was talking about the job, but he knew his wolf wasn’t.

There was a long pause. “Okay, then, stop whining like a pup. I’m trying to work.”

“Sorry,” Phil said, glad he could lie over the phone. He hung up before Fury could call him on it, ashamed that his hands shook as he tucked it in the pocket of his jacket. Looking up, the horse stared at him from across the yard, and he wondered if Hawkeye would sell her when he left. She snorted and raised her head high to neigh loud enough to be heard back at the hotel. Phil measured his breaths, deciding to ignore his wolf until dark. A few minutes drained away, and suddenly the back door flew open and Hawkeye ran outside.

Hawkeye, dressed only in jeans, barefoot, chest dripping, hair on end, yelled at his horse, “I was naked!” His hair stood on end. “Stupid horse!”

She began to prance, almost in place, and Phil tilted his head. She might’ve been laughing.

“Get in your corral! Old nag!”

The horse reared up, in perfect control, and then dropped, hooves pounding the ground. Hawkeye scrubbed his hands through his short, blondish hair and ran straight at her. Phil’s eyes widened, and he wondered if Hawkeye even saw him in the car. She trotted away, Hawkeye ran after her, grabbing her tail, and what followed was either a carefully choreographed show for him, or total insanity. Phil wasn’t sure which. He got out of his car, shut the door, and slid up on the hood to watch.

Cartwheels, back flips, front flips, handstands, and several maneuvers that Phil didn’t know the name for but looked dangerous: Hawkeye did them all well and with a flourish meant for an audience. And then the horse turned and came at the car, Hawkeye leaned over slightly, spreading his hands out to his sides, and Phil controlled the urge to duck as they jumped over the cab. The horse landed without a hitch, and Phil wished Hawkeye would’ve put on a shirt. His wolf was drooling.

Phil couldn’t deny Hawkeye was attractive, but over the years, he had learned to ignore that. He was an omega, everyone at SHIELD wanted him for a mate, but he wasn’t interested in any of them, male or female. If he were honest, he leaned towards males, and he’d always assumed that was why his wolf rejected everyone. Gender confusion between the two of them, so to speak. Now, looking at Hawkeye through his and his wolf’s eyes, he realized they were picky. Three hundred years, and all it’d taken was an archer with a penchant for killing werewolves. He supposed he should’ve guessed.

His wolf agreed and nudged him to do something about their attraction, right now.

“Oh, shut up,” Phil muttered, sliding off the hood and heading for the house. He needed coffee. Hawkeye galloped by, close enough to touch if Phil had reached out. Phil rolled his eyes. He was in so much damn trouble.


	25. Chapter 25

I could’ve slapped Phil on the shoulder as we went by, but I hated to antagonize him before we went hunting. I’d put on a show after I’d noticed him watching. I was in shape, damn it, and I was not going to boot camp for werewolves. Betsy and I did a circuit around the house, and when we got close to her corral, the suit was coming out the kitchen door. He didn’t look left or right, just got in his car and drove away. Betsy and I stared after him until the dust settled.

Betsy took me back to the house, and I slid off to go find out what was going on with the werewolf. I stopped with my hand on the doorknob. “Go to your corral.”

She snorted, and I figured she’d do what she wanted. Since we got here, she’d turned into a sassy thing. I stepped inside, and Jim was at the sink. “What’s up?” Making sure I didn’t sound disappointed that Coulson had left. I didn’t like him, not at all.

“John wants to meet us at his office at six pm.”

“He has an office?” I had a hard time picturing it for some reason. “In Yakima?”

“It’s more like the corner table at Miner’s Drive-In.” Jim looked down. “Can you at least put on shoes?”

“I’ll even comb my hair for burgers.” I wiggled my dusty toes. “Coulson seems like a good guy, not awful.”

“He was upset about something when he came inside.” Jim dried his hands on a dish towel. “What did Betsy want?”

“I have no idea.”

“She will need a stall in the barn for winter. I will let you deal with that this week.” Jim met my eyes. “You have much to learn before you go. Lessons begin in the morning. Calvin will help.”

It would be humiliating. No doubt about it. Calvin hated me as it was, and these lessons would be a great opportunity for him to rub it in my face that I was the stupid white man. I ducked my head, hoping I’d find a way to miss it. “I’ll go deal with the barn.” I turned away, face red.

“Hawkeye, don’t worry. You are a thunderbird. Nothing is beyond your grasp.”

“Except reading and writing. Oh, and my ears don’t work all that well.” I didn’t wait for a reply, going upstairs to find some clothes. Instead of going back downstairs, I shimmied out the window and made my way across the roof. It was a log cabin house, not even a challenge. Betsy tried to mooch some more grain, and I stood in the long aisle of the barn, wondering what exactly I was supposed to do. “Do you even like winter?”

Betsy nibbled at my shirt. She and I always wintered in Florida with the rest of the circus. I was fairly sure I had never owned a winter coat. “Are you going to grow more hair? Get shaggy, like a bear?”

She snorted, and we both wandered further down until we were standing in front of a large stall. “This one okay? Are you going to shit everywhere?” I wouldn’t be here to clean up after her, and I sorta wanted to curse and throw things. “What if your water freezes? It might just be easier to take you with me.”

“I have plans for her,” Seeker said, scaring the crap out of me. “Don’t worry.”

“Where the hell have you been?” I might’ve yelled. “Jim is planning to teach me stuff, Coulson wants me in boot camp, and Betsy’s never even grown a winter coat!”

“Your life is hell.” Seeker put his hand on my shoulder. “Let’s go flying.”

“Why the hell not,” I said, sighing with disgust. All I did anymore was dress and undress. “Can I fly with a shirt on?”

“You can try.” Seeker laughed.

I did try. The shirt didn’t work, but I discovered that I could shift and fly right out of my pants. That might come in handy, if I was in a hurry. Shoes also dropped right off my talons, but I wasn’t taking any chances with my converse. Purple ones were hard to find in my size. Seeker screamed overhead, and I hopped to the window to take flight.

We flew so high. I lost track of the ground and learned how to fly for miles carried by the air currents. Seeker taught me how to dive, pull out of it, and live. We skimmed along the water, and Seeker snatched up a fish, and I learned to fear only the ground. Getting up into the air when you were bigger than the biggest eagle was difficult beyond belief, even an old bird like Seeker tried to avoid it.

Finally, when I was dizzy from sky and wind, Seeker took us home, and I might’ve landed with a crash in the barn, rolling into some hay and deciding to stay down until the world stopped spinning.

When my eyes focused, Jim was staring down at me. “Alive?”

“My gramps knows how to show me a good time,” I said, giggling.

“You are drunk from lack of oxygen.” Jim nudged me with his boot. “Go clean up. It is time for our appointment.”

“Food!” I launched myself up, grabbed my clothes, and ran for the shower. I might’ve bounced off a few walls, but the water felt amazing, and I managed to get in the pickup before Jim by at least two seconds. “Burgers?”

“Big ones.” Jim threw it into drive. “Thank you for wearing shoes.”

“No problem.” I smiled, rolled down the window, and let the cool fall air dry my hair. I finally felt like I could _fly_. I might need some practice landing and getting off the ground was going to take some work, but I had flown so high. I grinned, unable to stop feeling good. “Do you think I can throw lightning like gramps can?”

“No,” Jim said. He glanced over at me and smiled. “You’re dangerous enough without that.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” I tapped my hand against the side of the truck. “I should fly over to the Tri-Cities and poop on Mercy’s car, or house, or maybe she’d be outside.”

“You’re a menace.”

I laughed, happy and unwilling to turn it loose. “Did I tell you I can fly right out of my pants? I’d have been a headliner act if I’d have known I could turn into a big ass bird! I could’ve made a fortune!”

“Most skinwalkers lay low. They don’t want the government to get wind of it.” Jim seemed serious now.

“You realize I’m going to work for the government, right?” I shot him a glare. “Sooner or later, I’m gonna shift. Being a sniper is dangerous.”

Jim raised his eyebrows, keeping his eyes on the dirt road. “Don’t let them dissect you.”

“I wish you were joking,” I grumbled, some of my glee draining away. Still, I could fly, and I was awesome, and werewolves could kiss my butt, except that they’d never catch it now. I laughed, and we both heard my stomach rumble. “I hope Shield feeds me.”

“Me too.”


	26. Chapter 26

Checking out of the stinky hotel was risky, but Phil decided he’d rather sleep in the car if push came to shove. He refused to ask Jim Alvin if he could sleep in the barn with the chickens. A wolf had to have some dignity. Tonight was a full moon, and Phil would be his wolf whether he liked it or not. He could only hope he wouldn’t shove his head in Hawkeye’s lap and make pathetic noises.

“Hawkeye doesn’t want you for a mate!” he said, out loud sometimes helped, to his wolf. “He’s not even a werewolf! Nor does he want to be one! He’s a young man I’m here to recruit, nothing more!”

His wolf sulked, clearly pouting. Phil put his suitcase in the trunk of his rental car and slammed the lid. “Stop it!”

He slapped his hands over his mouth to muffle the long, sad howl. “We aren’t teenagers! He’s nothing more than an annoying, uneducated, circus act!”

Desire and need coursed through Phil’s veins, and he wanted to go home. Home to his desk, his computer, and wolves that annoyed him with all their posturing: a good life. Thirteen more days of this might be the death of him, but there was no way in hell he’d let Sitwell take over. Sitwell would storm in, play the dominant wolf, and Hawkeye would disappear into the reservation, never to be seen again.

“Maybe, for Hawkeye’s sake, I should do just that. He’d probably live longer,” Phil said as he started the car. His wolf roared to life, jerking Phil’s body so violently his head slammed into the steering wheel. Dots swam in front of his eyes, and he yelled, “Fine! You idiot!”

His wolf receded, still angry, and Phil breathed deep, shoving him further away. To add insult to injury, Phil’s phone rang, and he didn’t have to dig it out to know who it was. He grumbled about pushy friends and answered it. “I’m working.”

“It’s the full moon, and I’d feel better if you were here,” Fury said.

“Well, then, you shouldn’t have sent me to the backwoods!” Phil snarled. “You know what I saw on the drive here? Peacocks! In trees! And an eagle the size of a bus shit all over my car!”

There was silence, and Phil could feel Fury using the pack bond to poke around inside him. Phil lowered his head back to the steering wheel and banged it again.

“Stop that,” Fury said. “Your wolf’s a mess. I’ve known you for a damn long time, Cheese, and your wolf never even howls.”

“I’m aware.” Phil rubbed his face briskly. “I think the moon is bigger here in Washington, or something.”

Fury said nothing again for two beats. “Ward has been asking for you. He wants you for a mate.”

The idea repulsed Phil, and his wolf growled, promising violence. “Not gonna happen. Ever.”

“I’ll shoo him away, but you have to take one someday. Maybe it’d settle your wolf.”

“We are not discussing this. I’m meeting with Hawkeye’s lawyer. Goodbye.” Phil hung up and hoped he’d sounded less crazy than he felt. For the first time in years, he wanted to bite something. Tear something limb from limb, and he scrubbed his face with his hands. If Ward even suspected Phil’s wolf had a crush on Hawkeye, well, Ward would kill him. Hawkeye wouldn’t have a chance with his cartwheels and flips.

Fury insisted Hawkeye was a marksman. The very best with any number of weapons, and he’d better be, or he’d never survive at SHIELD. It was a great place to work, but a person had to be mentally tough. They dealt with horrible things once a week, at least.

His wolf poked at him, looking forward to the hunt tonight, and Phil didn’t think that was a good idea at all. If they hunted together, his wolf would think they were pack. That couldn’t happen. His wolf had a crush, no big deal, and it would go away after two weeks when they never saw Hawkeye again. Phil dealt with experienced agents, not fresh off the boat ones. It’d be years before they even bumped into each other again. His wolf uncoiled, and he began to pant, fighting the change.

“I’m in a suit!” He made a last ditch effort, and his wolf backed away, but the message was clear. His wolf considered Hawkeye his mate. They were pack, and that was the end of it. Phil needed to face the truth, and he ripped the steering wheel off, staring at it stupidly. “Damn it.”


	27. Chapter 27

“This place is crazy!” I followed Jim’s winding path around tables bulging with people towards the back. “Do you see the size of those burgers?”

Jim didn’t slow down until he slid into a chair at a circular table. I narrowed my eyes at him because the spot he’d picked forced me to sit next to the furball.

Thundercloud grinned. “Hawkeye! Sit! Sit!”

I did, but I couldn’t have been the only one to notice that Coulson slid further over. He didn’t look at me, and his damn sunglasses were back on his face. Coulson tapped his fingers on the table. “There’s no way we can conduct our business here.”

“Are you in a hurry?” Thundercloud never lost his grin. “It will take me several days to read the non-disclosure agreement you have in your briefcase, and only then can we discuss the contract for Hawkeye’s services.”

Jim nodded. “He would prefer going to work for a circus. It is your choice, Agent Coulson.”

It hit me then that Jim and Thundercloud were playing with him, trying to frustrate him, and I had no idea why. “I love the circus,” I said, going along with them, but I’d made up my mind to join SHIELD. It was the best of a bunch of bad job offers. “Not sure about this whole sniper business.”

Coulson gave me a look that would’ve been fierce, except for the sunglasses. “Not here,” he ground out in a snarly voice.

“You don’t get to tell me to hush,” I snarled right back at him. “You’re not my father.”

Thundercloud cleared his throat, breaking the stare down. “Hawkeye, the food is ready. Will you get it?”

“Sure.” I got to my feet, thinking some ketchup would look good on that expensive tie. Coulson looked only at Jim, and I made my way to the counter. It took two trips to get everything, dodging screaming kids, so much food, and it was hard to be angry when I was hungry. There were enough fries to fill Betsy’s bucket, and even Coulson got busy eating a gigantic bacon burger. Jim made sure I tasted a bit of everything. The milkshakes were the best, and I slurped down two.

Sitting next to the werewolf was weird. First of all, he ate everything in sight while managing to look good doing it. Then there was the way his leg bumped into mine more than once. I wanted to ask him about a dozen questions, but in this crowd, I’d have to talk loud enough to be heard at the next table over.

“Not the best I’ve had, but when the moon is full I appreciate quantity over quality.” Coulson wiped his mouth and pulled some fries closer. Part of me wanted to yank them back. I thought the food was perfect, and werewolf needed to shut up. Jim and Thundercloud talked about different people in the tribe and problems with funding for the local community center. Their voices were low enough that I could just barely follow along with all the background noise. Coulson reached for the fry sauce at the same time I did, and our hands bumped. He jerked his hand back like I’d bitten him, and I wondered if he was worried about circus cooties, or if he just didn’t like humans.

“You should pay off the mortgage of the community center,” I said to Coulson. “Like a signing bonus. You do that, and I guarantee I’ll work for you.”

Coulson made a grumbling noise. Jim raised his eyebrows, but Thundercloud gave me a toothy grin. I shrugged. “Gotta pay for the best.”

“Allegedly the best. I’ve seen a lot of good snipers in my time,” Coulson said with a touch scorn in his voice.

“Jim, did he just doubt me?” I wasn’t sure.

“He did.” Jim and Thundercloud nodded.

I picked up a French fry, hefted it, and tossed it over my shoulder without looking. It plunked dead center in some guy’s open cup, six tables away, splashing pop up on him.

“What the hell?” the big guy surged to his feet.

I looked at Coulson in clear challenge. Coulson pushed the rest of the fries away from me. “I’m impressed. If SHIELD ever needs someone to start a food fight, we’ll call.”

Anger surged through me, and I wanted to do something stupid, like punch him, but Jim gave me a sharp look that meant ‘sit the hell down.’ And I realized was being played. It was a test. I eased back in the booth and shrugged. “I don’t have a bank account, anyway.” I thought about it. “I don’t even know my social security number.”

“You don’t have one,” Coulson said.

That made perfect sense, but somehow it hurt. Of course, I didn’t have anything normal. I was a circus freak, and freaks don’t have social security. My driver's licence was fake, having been presented to me when Barney said I was old enough to drive, and Carson had always paid me in cash. Maybe what hurt was the tone of Coulson's voice. He knew I was uneducated, and now he knew I was... Jim tapped my hand, and I met his eyes, and I got it. One thing I did have was a tribe. There weren’t many of them, but they hung together, helping each other, and I guessed that wasn’t normal either. “I need to think about this.”

All three men looked a little surprised. I got to my feet and headed for the door, stepping around people desperate for huge burgers. Jim’s truck was where we’d left it, but I didn’t see Coulson’s rental car anywhere. My truck, repainted, was near the corner, and I went down to it. The keys dangled in the ignition, and I got inside. It was my truck, and I drove away.


	28. Chapter 28

“He is young,” Mr. Alvin said. “But not stupid. You insulted him.”

Phil munched on another fry, eyeing both of them. “He’s an unknown. We mostly hire men or women that have been in the Armed Services and have proven records. Director Fury wants him, but that doesn’t mean he’s the best.”

They exchanged a look, and Phil forced his wolf to stop whining. Mr. Thundercloud said, “Jim, you should get a real lawyer for this. Hawkeye is right. He should have a signing bonus, vacation days, a 401k plan, and a lot of things I don’t know about. I’m a half-ass real estate lawyer. If Agent Coulson is serious about hiring him, he deserves the best.”

Phil fought the urge to snarl. “Or you could trust me to look after him.”

Both men stared at him in shock. Mr. Alvin got to his feet. “Come, John, I will give you a ride home.”

Knowing he’d blown it and blaming his wolf, Phil stood quickly. “Can I have your cell phone number? And Hawkeye’s?”

Mr. Alvin snorted. “When he arrived at my house, he had ten dollars, a horse, and a beat up bow. He has never lived in your world. Perhaps your Fury should look elsewhere. Hawkeye will find another path to his destiny.”

They were gone before Phil could think of something else to say. He slumped back down in his chair and picked up another French fry. His wolf wanted to bite something, or someone, and he had never felt more stupid. He’d just asked two Native American men to trust a white man who worked for the government - the same government who’d taken everything from them. He finished his drink, cleared the table, and headed back to his destroyed rental car. It was time for a new plan.

Getting a new car turned out to be an exercise in futility. The rental company was sending a tow truck, but they weren’t giving him another one to rip up. The bill for thirty thousand dollars and some change was going to drain his expense account, and he wondered again why Fury had sent him here.

Phil had already checked out of the motel, but he considered checking back in since he didn’t have a useable vehicle. Disgusted, he sat on the hood and wished for Lola. She always made him feel better. He wasn’t even surprised when his phone rang.

“What?” Phil was done being polite.

“Phil, this is Grant.” There was short pause and a whine. “The moon is full in two hours.”

“Happens every month.” Phil couldn’t bring himself to hang up on him, not yet. “What do you need, Agent Ward?”

“You. We should mate.” Ward whined a tiny pathetic noise. “I need you.”

“You need help. I agree.” Phil had never shown Ward any favoritism. “The answer is no. My wolf agrees.”

“Your wolf wants to be dominated. I’m the wolf for that.”

“Goodbye, Agent Ward. Don’t call me again on this matter.” Phil hung up. He called Fury with a vicious stab, not waiting for a hello. “Nick, if Ward calls me again, I’m finding a new pack. Get him under control.”

“Whoa!” Fury went straight to angry, which was a relief. “What the hell?”

“He called me, asking me to be his mate. He shouldn’t even have this number,” Phil spat, furious. “I’m working here!”

“I’ll go shake him down. Did you get the paperwork signed?”

“No, and I managed to piss off everyone involved. This is going to be harder than you thought.” Phil was angry, pathetic, and could feel his wolf wanting to run. “Hawkeye wants a signing bonus.”

“Give it to him. Hell, give him and his horse whatever they want. That horse tried to kill me,” Fury grumbled. “Don’t piss off Gordon Seeker. I’ve got enough trouble without him hitting the helicarrier with a few lightning bolts.”

“Sometimes, I think you leave way too many facts out of briefings.” Phil disconnected and shoved his phone in his pocket before he threw it. The honking of a horn made his head snap up, and he nearly gaped in surprise. “Hawkeye?”

“Since you obviously trashed your car. Get your stuff and get in.” Hawkeye was half hanging out the window of an old truck and he barked a short laugh. “Cars need steering wheels.”

“It was an accident.” Phil grabbed up his duffle and briefcase and trudged to the pickup. He tossed his stuff in the bed and got in the cab. “I have about two hours before I shift, maybe less, my wolf is restless. Consider yourself warned.”

Hawkeye nodded and got them moving. “I bought some dog biscuits. That motel is terrible. Fury must hate you.”

“Pretty sure he does.” Phil’s wolf wanted to scoot over and lean against him. Phil put on his seat belt and stared out the window at passing stores. “No cell phone?”

“I had one for a while, but Carson stopped paying us, and it was the first thing to go.” Hawkeye kept driving, not turning right or left. “It wasn’t like I had anyone to call. Look, you can’t blame Jim and Thundercloud for being protective. They knew my mom.”

Phil thought about it and went with the truth. “I don’t blame them. I was sent here to pick you up and take you to the airport. No negotiations, no contracts, just you, shoved in a car. After that, I was going back to my office. I don’t deal with new agents. Fury told me you were hiding out, probably living in a barn. This… situation isn’t what I expected, and I apologize if I'm mishandling it.”

They drove on, neither talking, and Phil began to sweat, trying to holding himself together and not tear apart the truck. The sun was almost down, and he needed other things, not suits or ties. Hawkeye drove faster, and it seemed like forever before he pulled into a highway rest stop. Phil looked at him in disbelief.

“It’s deserted. I’ll jimmy the lock. People stop here and piss behind the building.” Hawkeye got out fast and came around to help him walk the distance to the door. Phil didn’t want this to happen. It’d change everything. Hawkeye would never understand. The door opened with some help from Hawkeye, and he pushed Phil inside. “I’ll guard the door. Hurry.”

The boarded up windows provided privacy, and he moved to a corner, shedding clothes as fast as his shaking fingers could go. He felt his face changing, and he howled, loud and long. Moon was calling, and he’d answer whether he liked it or not.


	29. Chapter 29

Swinging by that ratty hotel to make sure Coulson had a vehicle had been a ridiculous idea, but I did it anyway. Suits drove everywhere, even across the street, and the fact that Coulson hadn’t had his car with him at the restaurant meant something was up.

When I saw the steering wheel had been torn off, I’ll admit I was surprised. Coulson wasn’t just a suit. He also looked tired and disgusted with life. That, I understood perfectly. Now, standing watch outside the door as he shifted into a werewolf, I realized I was an idiot. Coulson didn’t like me. I’d disrupted his plan to return to his desk. His wolf would probably kill me and eat me so they could go do paperwork.

A long howl made me consider bolting for the truck. Seconds turned into minutes, and the door rattled. I pushed it open, ready to run for my life, only to be greeted with a whirlwind of fur and kisses. Laughing, I fell on my ass and let myself be mauled. Coulson was beautiful, five or six shades of gray and silver blended all over his body, not a trace of white on him except for two of his front toes.

“Okay, okay, I get it. You don’t plan to eat me. Let me get your clothes, and we’ll go home.” I fought my way to my feet. Coulson was bigger than Bran, but not by much. Part of my brain whispered how easy it’d be to kill him, but I shoved it away. Coulson might be a killjoy, but his wolf was awesome. I got the door for him, and he jumped in the truck without coaxing.

Grabbing out Coulson’s duffle bag, I stuffed the clothes and shoes in there and decided never to discuss his choice of boxers with him. His cell phone fell out of a pocket, and I tucked it away safe in a side pocket before zipping it shut. A howl from the cab, and I hurried to get us moving before the cops showed up. The wolf wagged its tail furiously and then put his head on my thigh as we drove away.

It was impossible not to stroke my hand through his fur, but I was careful not to tug on his ears. He was still a werewolf. All this cuteness could be a trick. He sat up and pressed his nose into my neck, and right there, right then, I fell in love with a werewolf.

It wasn’t much farther to the ranch, and Betsy somehow managed to glare at me, even though it was dark. The wolf bounced and danced next to me, and I stashed Coulson’s duffle and suitcase in my trailer. I made sure Betsy had hay, water, and a pat on the neck. She lowered her head, and the wolf sat down. Their noses touched, and I didn’t make a sound. Betsy snorted, and the wolf licked her nose.

God, he was adorable. I wanted to keep him, forever. Betsy taken care of, I went to the kitchen door. We went inside together, and luckily, Jim was at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee.

“How do you sleep after coffee?”

“Quite well. I took John Thundercloud home. He thinks we should get a lawyer that specializes in work contracts.” Jim had eyes only for the wolf sitting by my side. “He’s very handsome.”

“He really is.” I wanted to brush him and crash on the floor to watch television with him in my lap, but we had a job to do. “We’ll head out and try to get a deer.”

“Take supplies.” Jim got to his feet and helped me get a backpack of items together. I strapped on my knife, and Jim caught me by the arm. “Be careful.”

“Will do. Plenty of light. Big, full moon.” I ran upstairs, nearly fell over the wolf, and gathered my bow and arrows. He leaped on the bed and rolled to his back with his paws in the air. I laughed. “Come on. Mrs. Landon needs food for winter.”

We raced downstairs and out the door, and Jim shouted something after me, but I never heard him. I could’ve taken Betsy, but she didn’t see very well at night. I’d get her at some point in the morning to help haul the deer home, assuming we could get one.

The wolf didn’t tear off into the night like I’d expected. I settled into a ground-eating pace, and he matched me, sometimes darting off for a few minutes and then rushing back like he needed to check on me.

“Find a deer, okay?”

He pranced and panted at me. It was cute, but not very helpful. I alternated between walking and trotting, glad I had plenty of energy from the huge burgers. The wolf stayed right with me, sometimes behind. When we drew near my camp, I slowed way down, creeping along, hoping to see a deer. The wolf licked my hand.

I crouched, kept my hand on his shoulders, and watched. My ears were no good in this situation, but I wasn’t called Hawkeye for nothing. After a half hour, I moved, following a small trail around the other side of a small ridge. The night settled, and then out of nowhere, the wolf stood up and licked my ear. I nearly screamed.

There was a crash, the wolf howled, and I fired three arrows in rapid succession. We ran, fast as I could, jumping over branches here and there. Now the wolf took the lead, and I followed until my lungs wanted to burst. When I didn’t think I could run another step, the wolf howled again, and I nearly fell over the deer. It was a medium-sized buck. I’d managed to get two arrows in him, and if I hadn’t had the wolf, I’d have never found him.

“Good job,” I rasped from down on my knees, trying to get air back in my body. While I heaved and gasped, the wolf licked my face and whined. When I could think, I eased to my feet and retrieved my arrows. “Stay back. They’re silver.”

The wolf stopped, took two steps back, and sat down, tongue hanging out. I cleaned the arrows and put them away before taking my knife and slitting the deer’s throat. “Jim taught me how to hunt the right way. You have to say thanks and promise to do right by the deer. My knife has silver in it so be careful.”

The wolf smiled, and I rubbed his head. Blood that was on my hand got on his fur, and I swore I felt a tingle, a charge of electricity or something jumped between us. “Whoa,” I said. The wolf threw back his head and howled, loud and long.

“Can I call you Lucky?” I knelt down and hugged him, and then the two of us started getting the deer up and moving towards my campsite. There was no way we’d make it the entire way back home tonight. Lucky was incredibly strong, and together we got it done. When the deer was hung to bleed out, I washed us off at the tiny waterfall and started a fire in my usual place. We sat together, and I wanted to ask him a million questions, but he stretched his paws out toward the fire and rested his head in my lap. I ate a breakfast bar that Jim had thrown in my pack and gave Lucky a piece of beef jerky to gnaw.

I woke up when the sun mustered the strength to make sleeping uncomfortable, and I took a long stretch before realizing Lucky was gone. It was stupid, but I was sad. If all the werewolves were like him, the world would be a better place.

“Hawkeye!”

“I’m up!” I could see Jim riding Betsy towards me on the small trail, and part of me wanted to yell curse words at him. No one rode Betsy but me, no one, except Jim now, and she’d need him while I was gone to SHIELD. It made the fact that I was leaving very real, and I forced away my anger. “You two having fun?”

“She got me up, made me feed her, and then yanked her hackamore out of the trailer. I got the message.” Jim grinned. “Where’s your wolf?”

“I don’t know, but I’d bet he ran back to town and the nearest Starbucks.” I set about making sure the fire was dead and then splashed some cold water on my face. My feelings weren’t hurt at all. Jim and I wrestled the deer onto Betsy’s back, and then I insisted Jim ride home. He protested until I stopped him. “I’ll fly.”

“Makes sense,” he said, giving in gracefully. I put my clothes in my back pack, tossed it up to him along with my bow and quiver, and started climbing a tree. Jim and Betsy started for home, and I knew I looked ridiculous, but I had to get some height to get in the air. I jumped, shifted, and flapped my way higher. I took my time, circling and using my incredible eyesight to look for the wolf, but I saw nothing.

A rabbit in the grass distracted me, but I resisted, and I made it home long before Betsy and Jim. There was a man in a suit coming out of my trailer, and Coulson already had on his sunglasses. I cried out, and he looked up. With a dive and a swoop, I landed on top of Betsy’s trailer, flapping my wings to get settled.

Coulson stared up at me, and slowly, he reached inside his pocket for his phone. I wondered if he was calling the police, but all he did was take several pictures. I tried to look noble, or at least not sleepy. While he was holding it, the phone rang.

“I’m fine,” he said, ducking his head and looking away. In that moment, I shifted and jumped off the trailer to land on the other side away from him. He turned back, frowned, and I waited until he was up on the porch to make my silent way to my bedroom and a few clothes.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thirteen days until Hawkeye reports to SHIELD.

While he ran naked through the woods and the pastures, jumping over the occasional cow turd, Phil cursed his wolf thoroughly and explicitly. His damn wolf had made a fool out of them both, and if the threat of Sitwell wasn’t hanging over him, Phil would run all the way to the airport. The sun was threatening to rise, and he picked it up a notch. At least he had the answer whether Hawkeye was physically fit. Boot camp was off the table.

That left hand-to-hand combat up next to be assessed, and Phil wasn’t looking forward to that conversation. How he’d even look Hawkeye in the face was a mystery. This was why Phil stayed in his office, ran with his pack, who knew he was a moron wolf, and never, ever dealt with new agents.

About halfway there, he heard a horse coming, and he panicked, diving behind a bush that barely covered his ass. Betsy and Jim were following the trail towards Hawkeye, and Phil was relieved. He’d planned to wake them. His wolf didn’t like Hawkeye being alone. The horse swung her head his direction, snorting, but Jim didn’t glance that way. As soon as they were out of sight, Phil started running again.

One crisis averted, he dropped into a ground-eating lope for the rest of the way back to the house. There was no way he was shifting into his wolf again unless the moon made him. When he finally got there, he headed for the trailer. He had a vague memory of Hawkeye stashing his duffle bag in there. There was a battery lamp, and Phil shut the door tight before sitting on the bed to consider a nervous breakdown.

His wolf gloated, awash in good feelings. Phil could feel his hands shaking, and he had to get it together. Hawkeye wouldn’t know that Phil’s wolf was an idiot. He could just play it off as normal. When they got back to SHIELD, Phil would make sure he never saw him again, and his wolf would have to suffer. They’d be miserable for a while, but his wolf would eventually get over it.

There was a distinct feeling of doubt coming from his wolf, but Phil ignored it. He dug a package of wet wipes out of his duffle bag and cleaned up before attempting to find some clothes. One piece of clothing at a time, he put himself back together, and by the time he found his cell phone, he was fine.

He checked his messages, answered a couple, and decided coffee was more important than sulking in a horse trailer. He snapped off the lamp and stepped out, sliding on his sunglasses. A cry above him made him look, and the biggest bird he’d ever seen came down to an awkward landing on the horse trailer. Phil could only stare. Slowly, he reached in his coat pocket and pulled out his phone. The bird raised its head, and he took several pictures. Someone would know what kind of eagle it was. Black and purple weren’t normal bird colors.

The phone rang, calling out Fury’s ringtone, and Phil turned, ducking his head. “I’m fine,” he said to forestall any mother hen clucking. When he looked again, the weird-colored eagle was gone, and he blinked several times wondering if he’d imagined the entire thing.

“No, you’re not,” Fury said.

Phil moved to the front porch and sat on the front step. “I’m making progress. We hunted together last night. We got a deer.”

“You.” Fury made a strange noise. “You killed a deer?”

“No. Hawkeye used his bow, and he might be as good a shot as you think he is.” Phil hated that Fury knew his wolf so well. “I tracked it for him.”

“I’m starting to get a bad feeling here. Did you share blood? Offer him a bite of your flesh?”

“What? No!” Phil cringed, remembering the blood but sure it meant nothing. “My wolf likes him. I think he’s a young man with anger issues and an inflated sense of self.”

Fury’s silence wasn’t reassuring at all. Then he said, “I sent you there as a show of good faith, not for your wolf to go all googly-eyed over a new toy.”

“Yes, sir.” Phil didn’t know what else to say. “Do you think the Marrok is coming back?”

“I hope not.” Fury sighed. “His pack has an omega of their own. Don’t make me come over there.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Phil hung up on him before things went further south. He was fine. When he shifted tonight, he’d hide away, and that’d be the end of it. He’d keep a tight control on his wolf until it was time to go.

“You want some coffee?” Hawkeye asked from behind him.

Phil had smelled him so he wasn’t surprised. His wolf jumped for joy, and Phil smiled, unable to help himself. Hawkeye looked stunned. “You can smile?”

“I like coffee.” Phil got up and was careful not to touch him. “Thank you.”

“Sure. Jim made it before he left.” Hawkeye got them both a cup, remembering that Phil liked his black because he slid it right to him at the kitchen table. They sat across from each other, and Phil stuffed his wolf down twice. Hawkeye sipped his and then said, “I like your wolf.”

A horrible needy whine came out of Phil’s throat, and he cleared it, trying to cover up. “Good job bringing down the deer.” He knew he sounded stupid, so he had to explain a little. “I had hoped my wolf would be more help than he was. He’s a little…”

Hawkeye’s eyes grew large. “Your wolf is great.”

“Unstable,” Phil finished. He blushed. “The wolves in my pack put up with him.”

“God, I hate werewolves.” Hawkeye looked furious. “Always so stupid!”

Phil had no idea what to say. He focused on his coffee and told his wolf to be quiet.

“Sorry. I don’t hate you, just werewolves in general. Actually, I like Bran, too, but most werewolves are so dumb. They strut around and act like they own the world.” Hawkeye kept his face in his cup. “You have no idea how relieved I was that you didn’t want to eat me.”

“My wolf would never hurt you,” Phil said, hoping Hawkeye believed him. “He… likes you, too.”

Any more awkward revelations were forestalled when Jim rode by on Betsy. Hawkeye was gone in a flash, and Phil didn’t follow. He wanted more coffee, and he didn’t think it was a good idea to be around all the blood. His wolf might do something stupid, like prance around and worship Hawkeye. Phil got up and poured himself a refill. He needed a plan.


	31. Chapter 31

When the deer was ready for processing, Jim surprised me by insisting on taking it to town himself. So, we loaded it in the back of his truck and off he went, leaving me with the mess to clean up. Even Betsy had blood on her. Okay, not such a surprise that Jim left, and I laughed, wishing Lucky was here.

Coulson didn’t understand how great his wolf was, and I didn’t understand why not. Bran had explained to me the three types of werewolves. Dominants, mostly assholes, submissives, the nicer version of werewolves, who don’t like fighting, and omegas, very rare, and a bit odd because they did whatever they wanted. Charles was married to an omega, and she didn’t take shit from anyone, never lowering her eyes. Bran had claimed omegas had some sort of power – the power to put the wolf inside the man to sleep. It sounded like magic to me.

I bagged up the hide – Jim would want it, but the guts and back legs would need to be buried. By the time, I finished that, I was damn hungry, and there was still blood all over Betsy. She had been a big help, sleeping on her feet in her corral. All the work gave me plenty of time to think, and I decided to ask him what kind of wolf he was.

When Betsy was blood free – she loved baths – I was filthy. I crept in the back door, hoping Coulson was doing anything but sitting at the kitchen table. He looked up at me, laptop and paperwork scattered around him. I tucked my bow and quiver in its usual spot by the back door. Steeling myself, I stripped off my clothes, took them to the washer, and walked upstairs like I wasn’t naked. I didn’t look at him, but I’d heard some kind of noise, probably horror. I had a few scars, and I wasn’t ashamed, damn it.

Cleaner, still blushing, I re-dressed and headed downstairs. I needed food, anything at this point. The shock of what I was seeing made me stop at the bottom of the stairs, jaw hanging open. Coulson turned from shutting the door, pizza boxes stacked high. “Anything’s possible if you pay enough.”

“I love you,” I blurted. Embarrassment made my face bright red, and I tried to talk my way out of it. “I love anyone who feeds me.” I’d made it worse. “I mean, oh god, please feed me.”

Coulson laughed, putting the boxes on the table. “You’re cheap and easy.”

“You have no idea,” I breathed, shocked at his laughter. Fast, I plunked my butt in front of a box, got it open, and shoved a piece in my mouth. I didn’t even care what it was, but meat lover’s was perfect. I was pretty sure I didn’t even breathe until I’d eaten half a pizza, then I looked up. Coulson had a box of his own, smelled like pepperoni, and I wanted some of that, too.

“Where did he take the deer?”

My thoughts de-railed off pizza for a few minutes. “There’s a Wishram butcher who will get it ready for Mrs. Landon. She pays him a small fee. Jim said she’s a widow, so it’s a good thing.” I shoved my mouth full again, trying the other box, happy to find sausage and green pepper.

“Did we have a license? Tag it?”

I stared at him, saying nothing. When Jim suggested I get a deer, I got one. End of story. I chewed, glad his sunglasses were off for a change. His wolf was nice, maybe he was hiding a nice personality behind that mask. “Are you a submissive wolf?”

“No,” he snapped.

“Never mind,” I muttered, but in a way, I had my answer. Coulson was an omega, one of the weird ones, who didn’t take orders and do whatever they want. Fury had called Coulson the Heart of the pack, and I got it now. Coulson was special.

“I need to assess your fighting skills today,” Coulson said.

I grabbed a napkin and wiped my face, getting up to go to the fridge. “You want a soda? Beer? Milk?”

“I still have coffee. I made a fresh pot.”

Well, I needed a beer, so I snagged a long neck and went back to the pizza. “Is Lucky going to be around tonight?” The words slipped out, and I wanted them back instantly.

Coulson narrowed his eyes. It was then I got it. Lucky wasn’t dangerous. Coulson was. He probably knew six ways to kill me with a pizza box. His eyes were very blue, and I’d noticed that Lucky’s were golden. There was a lot I didn’t know about werewolves, even though I’d felt like Bran had talked my ears off. Another thought popped into my brain.

“Could you hear me cursing in the shower?”

A jerk of a nod, and Coulson might’ve blushed, ever so faintly. “Werewolves have exceptional hearing, unlike you.”

“Hey, I do fine.” I wasn’t discussing my ear problems with him. Pulling the pepperoni close, I went back to eating, not stopping until my stomach groaned. Coulson refilled his coffee once, but I only wanted the one beer. I put the leftover pizza in two boxes and stuffed them in the fridge, hoping Jim didn’t eat any. If Seeker showed up, it’d be gone in a blink. I went to the window, stared out, and tried another question. “Are you married?”

“No.” Coulson’s answer was faint, not snarly.

“Me neither. Girls are hard.” I snuck a glance at him. “Are girl wolves as difficult as human?”

“There are three women who are werewolves at Shield. Two are mated.”

“That Fury is a scary wolf.” For some reason, I wanted to keep him talking, maybe learn a few things. “Is he married?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” Coulson rattled some papers loud enough for me to hear. “Do you know karate? Any forms of self-defense?”

I knew how to survive, that was all. “Not that I’m aware of. You?”

“Yes. Most wolves do. Fights for dominance are usually in human form.”

“Really? I was pretty sure Bran was going to try to tear Fury’s throat out. I wanted to get my bow and put a couple of arrows in Fury’s heart, but Bran told me to…” I hesitated, not sure I wanted to share that I was a thunderbird, not the car. “Anyway, Fury looked away and promised no one would eat me at Shield, and then he walked off.”

“Fury. Looked away?” Coulson sounded shocked. “Are you sure?”

“It looked that way to me. Bran didn’t seem satisfied with the whole thing. He doesn’t like strange wolves in his territory.” I needed to stop babbling. “Seeker was there. Ask him.”

“I met Gordon Seeker the day I arrived. Where has he been?”

I nearly laughed. “No one knows. Gramps will turn up. No worries.”

Silence fell between us, and I stuffed all my questions away for another day. “So, Lucky will be around tonight?”

“Whether I like it or not,” Coulson growled. “He’ll do something stupid, be prepared.”

“Why are you so mean to your wolf? He’s great.” I turned now, stuffing my hands in my hoodie pocket and feeling protective of a wolf I’d just met.

“He doesn’t hunt. He acts like a puppy half the time, and the dominant wolves make fun of him.” Coulson had his head down. “I usually hide.”

I stared, shocked. “Dominant wolves are mostly a bunch of assholes. Do you mean you hide inside Lucky, or Lucky hides, like, in a closet?”

“Both.” Coulson got to his feet. “I need to make a phone call.” He practically ran out the front door, and I stared after him. What I needed was a nap, but I also needed to do something, like sharpen my arrows so I could shoot every dominant wolf that had ever picked on Coulson, Lucky, whoever.

Seeker picked that moment to open the back door. “Let’s go flying.”

“Can I visit Bran?” I needed to ask him a few questions.

“I will show you the way.” Seeker hauled me out the back door. “Are you getting along with your werewolf?”

“I like his wolf. I thought he was a boring, uptight suit, now I’m not sure.”

“Do I smell pizza?”

“No.” I climbed up the side of the house, stashed my clothes near the chimney, and shifted. Seeker caught up with me and then led the way higher and faster. I flapped as hard as I could and screamed after him.


	32. Chapter 32

The porch wasn’t a haven from all the feelings that were churning in Phil’s gut, and his wolf wasn’t in his usual corner. No, he was up, pacing and whining. He wanted out, and Phil had to loosen his tie.

His sharp ears picked up the back door opening, but his phone rang, and his attention went there. He stepped down and sat on the stairs, swiping the screen. “Are you going to call every day?”

“Maybe, since I can’t get a damn thing done because you keep freaking out.”

“I’m fine,” Phil lied. “Did you cede dominance to the Marrok?”

“I decided not to fight about it,” Fury snarled. “We’ve got a situation. I need your talents.”

“When are you picking me up?” Phil couldn’t even muster any enthusiasm.

“In the morning.”

“And Hawkeye?” Phil’s wolf made him ask.

“No time.”

There was a moment of rage in Phil’s wolf, and then he spoke, “No.” Before Phil could grab the reins, his wolf had thrown his phone. Werewolf strength went up against the phone, and the phone lost as it sailed until it smashed into a fence post. “Oh, shit.”

Phil went back inside, but the house was empty. Hawkeye was gone, and Phil hadn’t even heard him leave. Phil went outside, stopped by the corral, stared back at the horse, and listened. No one was within miles, which wasn’t possible. He turned a complete circle, and his wolf whined.

A few minutes later, he heard a pickup truck, coming their way, and he knew it was Jim. Curious now, Phil checked the barn, just to be sure. No Hawkeye. He was gone. Jim got out of the truck, and Phil met up with him near the back door.

“Hawkeye?” Jim asked.

“Gone,” Phil said, trying not to sound worried as they trooped in the house. “We ate pizza, and then, he left.”

“He’ll be back for dinner.” Jim pointed with his chin at the kitchen table. “Get any work done?”

“Not much.” Phil rubbed his forehead, going to sit down. “I need to do several evaluations, but he’s stubborn.”

“That he is.” Jim got a cup of coffee and sat at the far end of the table. “Can I help?”

Phil wasn’t sure why they should bother if Fury was canceling the whole thing, but he nodded. “I’d appreciate it. No lawyers?”

“For some reason, wolf, I am starting to trust you.” Jim shrugged. “Mrs. Landon sends her thanks.”

“I didn’t do much.” Phil started to order the paperwork. “Let’s start at the beginning.” His wolf settled down, falling quiet, and it was enough for Phil to concentrate.


	33. Chapter 33

Bran was out hunting, living wild, so we didn’t stick around. Charles scared the crap out of me, and Samuel lived with Mercy. The lady who answered Bran’s door was not a nice person, and I got my feathers back on as fast as possible.

Seeker and I flew high, but we eventually turned for home, and we chased each other through the sky. The sun was nearly down when I landed on the roof, and for once, I didn’t fall on my beak. As quick as I could, it was turning cold out, I scampered over to the chimney and dressed. Betsy neighed at me so I ran to give her a little extra grain, tossed hay, and checked water. She slobbered on my shirt so she was fine, and I ran for the back door.

Coulson, Jim, and Jim’s dead wife – I needed to get her name – were all at the kitchen table. I smiled, grabbed a pizza box from the fridge and sat near Coulson to eat everything in the box, maybe the paper, too.

“You were… on the roof?” Coulson asked.

“Maybe,” I mumbled, cheeks full of cold pizza. “You two have fun?”

“We worked on your contract. You need a social security number. We started the paperwork for that, and Shield is offering a one-time signing bonus, contingent on you working there for at least two years. Of course, if you die, you keep the money,” Jim said. “It is a generous offer, and I made sure you had holidays off to return home with two weeks minimum in the summer. Your paychecks will be put in an account that you can set up. There is also a 401k and matching retirement funds up to five percent. All healthcare is free and provided by Shield.”

“Wow,” I said, impressed. “Can my money go into your bank account? Hay and feed can get expensive.”

Coulson and Jim exchanged a look. Jim held out his hand, and Coulson dug out a five-dollar bill to put in it. I glared at both of them. Coulson shrugged. “No. You need a bank account. We’ll set one up as soon as your social security card comes.”

“Okay, what if I want to quit?” It worried me. I’d killed a lot of werewolves, but they’d been trying to kill me. I wasn’t sure I could kill someone for no reason.

“You can terminate employment at any time and retain all funds except the signing bonus before two years. You will, however, have to sign a non-disclosure form. You also receive a personal day, paid sick days, and dental.” Coulson looked satisfied with all that. “If you’ll sign everything tonight, I’ll get the paperwork moving, and when I come back in twelve days, you’ll be ready.”

“What? Come back?” I sat straight up. “I thought we were going fight? And assess me and stuff.”

“Director Fury has an assignment for me.” Phil’s face contorted, and he looked as if he were in pain. He put his hand on his tie. “We’re going. It’s our job.”

I glanced at Jim and raised my eyebrows. Jim shrugged. I asked, “Are you talking to me, or Lucky?”

“My wolf isn’t happy, but we don’t have a choice. We’re going.” Coulson wiped his brow. I could see his jaw starting to grow, and I wondered if I’d have to extract Lucky from the suit, but Coulson got to his feet. “I have to shift.”

“Come on.” I got him out the door. He could shift in my trailer. Jim didn’t need organs on his nice hardwood floors. Coulson stripped off his clothes in a hurry, and I sat on the bed, leaning back. I didn’t watch, exactly, but I didn’t look away. Coulson had muscles, and they were contorting, and I stared at my shoes for a while. I’d kissed a girl once or twice and a boy three or four times, and I wasn’t sure which I liked best. One of the Mexican men who set up the tents had offered me a blowjob once, and I wasn’t against it, but Barney had slugged me when he got wind of it.

Barney had set me up with a girl not long after that, but she hadn’t been nice at all. Barney had told me that wasn’t the point and smacked me again. He’d been a lot like Dad in some ways. So, I might’ve been looking at Coulson. In a way that’d get me punched if Barney were alive. It was a good thing Coulson wasn’t nice to me, or I’d have reached out, touched, and risked a smack upside the head.

If there was a lot of growling and snarling, I couldn’t hear him, and it was a good ten minutes before Lucky sat up. He threw back his head and howled before jumping in my lap. “Who’s a good wolf?” I asked, rubbing his head.

Lucky licked my face, and I let him. “Want some pizza?”

We both hurried back to the kitchen and the pizza, finishing it off in record time. Jim laughed and made sure there was a bowl of water on the floor. I had a soda and crashed on the sofa to watch some television. Lucky thought that was a great idea. I found a movie that wasn’t awful on Netflix, and Lucky stretched out mostly on top of me.

After spending an hour and a half petting him, I needed some action. We went to lock up the barn, making sure the chickens were on the inside, and ended up playing an insane game where I balanced on the fence rails and Lucky tried to knock me off by jumping at me.

I was pretty sure I won, but he did manage to crash into me once. Winded, we went in the back door and before my hands were washed, Lucky had a box of pizza in his mouth and was prancing into the living room. I didn’t ask how he’d gotten the fridge open, but I made sure it was shut.

“Are you going to eat that entire box?”

Lucky’s golden eyes gleamed, but I managed to snag two pieces before he devoured the rest of it, and the paper. When only the box was left, he tore it into bite-sized pieces with a determination that was a little scary.

“When you poop paper tomorrow, I don’t want to hear any complaints, Pizza Wolf,” I said, and then I remembered that he’d be gone tomorrow. I wasn’t happy about that, and Lucky whined softly. Jim had long gone to bed, and that was good because Lucky also chewed up the magazine I threw at him. After I cleaned up the huge mess, we watched another movie before going upstairs. I showered, Lucky sat and kept an eye on me, which was less creepy than it should’ve been, and then I hit the bed.

Lucky took up a lot of space, wiggling and rubbing his face on the covers, and he smelled like a furball. I wanted to stay up all night and enjoy having a wolf friend, but I’d flown too much and eaten too much pizza and sleep dragged me down.


	34. Chapter 34

When the night gave up and the sky started to pink, Coulson slid off the bed, not reaching for Hawkeye to touch only by sheer dint of will. Knowing Fury like he did, morning meant the ass crack of dawn.

Coulson tucked the blankets around Hawkeye and wished he could stay, but it was time to go. He padded downstairs, grabbed a quick shower and went out to the trailer to find some clothes that didn’t stink. After dressing, he re-packed his duffle, cursed his wolf for destroying his phone, and looked under the bed to make sure he wasn’t leaving a tie or sock. Satisfied, he left the trailer, crept by the sleeping horse with the big mouth, and went out to the pasture where he knew the quinjet could land.

Five minutes later, he heard the tell-tale whine of the engine, but he didn’t move until the ramp came down. He needed – had to – make sure there was a plan in place for Hawkeye’s future. What he expected was his friend Nick to come striding down the ramp, cursing about the backend of the planet. What he received was another lesson in how a good agent never assumes.

“Phil!” Agent Ward’s smile made Phil’s wolf – he might as well call him Lucky – growl.

“Agent Ward, did Director Fury send you to pick me up?” Phil knew he should board and buckle up, but this was entirely wrong.

“Of course,” Ward said, still smiling.

Phil would admit that it was a good lie, but it was still a lie. He didn’t take even one step, and Ward circled him.

Betsy picked that moment to realize there were werewolves in the front pasture. Ward flinched at the noise, hand going to his gun, and Phil stopped him.

“Just a stupid horse,” Ward said.

“Not yours,” Phil snarled. “Can I borrow your phone? Just to verify.”

“Did you lose yours? You know Fury hates that.” Ward sniffed him, and Phil controlled his physical recoil.

“Director Fury understands that werewolves sometimes crush their phones.” Phil opened his mouth, trying to smell who the pilot was because chances were good that Ward wasn’t alone, and there it was. “Why is Agent Garrett with you? He’s supposed to be in London.”

Ward tried to stroke his hand down Phil’s arm, and Phil growled, shoving him away. “He was your supervisory agent. He shouldn’t be here.”

“Come on. We need to go.”

“Give me your phone. When I get a verbal confirmation from Director Fury--.” Phil reached with his power to put Ward’s wolf to sleep.

“Fury always kept you locked up tight, but now you’re available, and you might smell weird, but you’re mine,” Ward interrupted, moving fast and pressing some sort of injector into Phil’s neck.

Phil hit him in the side of the head with his briefcase, but it was far too late. His wolf howled, pulling on something that Phil hadn’t known was inside them, and everything started to fade to black.


	35. Chapter 35

Betsy’s neigh brought me straight out of bed, and I almost dropped back down to the mattress to go back to sleep, but Lucky was gone, and that wasn’t right. I fumbled my way into my jeans, figuring I’d feed her and then track down my werewolf, or at least make sure Coulson had the coffee going.

I slogged my way down the stairs, fighting gravity and the whole morning idea. When my hand hit the back door knob, something grabbed hold of my insides and gave me the shaking of a lifetime. I snatched up my bow and quiver and ran, full-tilt, wide-awake and snarling.

There was a plane, or helicopter, or something, in the pasture, ramp down as if waiting, and I watched Coulson slump to his knees, duffle and briefcase dropping to the grass. A strange dark-haired werewolf grinned, leaning down to scoop him up, and I notched an arrow, furious.

“Stop! Right there!” I stayed a safe distance away, knowing about how far he could jump. All around him, ghosts stood, blood running from wounds, and more of them were coming down that ramp. They told me everything I needed to know. Coulson wasn’t going of his own free will, and I should be careful. This wolf was a monster and needed to be stopped.

He whipped around, snapping his teeth at me. “He’s my mate, go away!”

Somewhere deep inside of me, something I hadn’t known was there, flared in denial. “He’s not your anything! Get your paws off him!”

“Or what? You’ll shoot me with your little bow? Oh, I’m so scared.” The werewolf crouched, and Coulson slid all the way to the ground to lie motionless.

Anger cleared my mind of doubt, and I waited, ready to take the shot at the perfect moment.

“Ward! Get him and get your ass in here! Fury will be here soon!” Another furball, big and burly, came down the ramp. “Oh shit, a witness. Kill him.”

The wolf went for his gun, not even hesitating, and I saw the pull of his muscles that said he would shoot, jump towards me, and then finish me off if necessary. I shot for the arm that was going for the gun, knowing its path, and then grabbed for another arrow. The werewolf yelled, cursed, jumped as I’d predicted, and my arrow slammed into his body as he dropped onto me, tearing and biting. My bow snapped in half, and I hit the ground hard, driving the air from my lungs. Blood gushed between us, pain ripping around my body, and I fought to get out from under him, to have a chance.

“You little fucker!” The burly guy ripped the dead werewolf off me, and I grasped for anything to throw at him as I leaped to my feet. My arrows were spilled on the ground, my knife was in the house, and I had nothing. I could see Phil staggering to his feet, and the world seemed to slow as Phil howled his anger. The gun was too far away, and I was dead, dead, and I could only hope Phil got on his feet in time to keep Jim safe.

The werewolf drew his gun from his thigh holster, and desperation made me jump straight up, shifting right out of my pants.

And Betsy ran him down.

The gun went off, nicking my wing, but I was up and on him, tearing and biting. He grabbed for my wing, and I saw Betsy coming back for another pass. I jumped away, trying to get in front of a groggy Phil, and Betsy started stomping the shit out of the burly werewolf, who was fighting for all he was worth.

There was a roar of engines, another gunshot, and Phil went to his knees, unable to stand. I landed in front of him, wings extended, and I saw Betsy go down, managing to fall on top of the cursing werewolf. Time slowed way down, part of me died inside, and I heard Seeker screaming through the sky.

He was too late, and I could see the werewolf still moving, getting out from underneath Betsy. They could take a lot of punishment and keep going. Three shots cracked from behind me, tearing the werewolf to pieces before he could stand, and Seeker landed on his feet next to Betsy.

I shifted to human and ran to her, seeing nothing but blood all over her beautiful white. “Betsy! Shit!”

Seeker put his hand on my chest to keep me back and then went to his knees beside her, putting his hand on her neck. “It is time to leave this incarnation, Horse.”

Grabbing the werewolf, I dragged him away from her. “Aw, Betsy, no.”

She shuddered, full body, eyes full of pain going dull, and vanished, leaving behind only blood-stained dirt.

“Damn,” Fury said from behind me, and I whipped around to find him holding up Coulson. He had killed the werewolf, not me, not Betsy, and I should’ve been grateful, but all I felt was horror and grief.

“Hawkeye, I’m sorry,” Coulson whispered.

“It was her time,” Seeker said. “She had stayed longer in that form than she should have.”

All I knew was that she was gone, like everyone else I’d ever loved. I went towards the barn, mind twirling with more sadness than I could handle, kicking aside my broken bow. It was all gone, and I ran up to the hay loft, launching myself out the window.


	36. Chapter 36

“Holy shit,” Phil said, not believing any of this. “He’s an eagle.”

“He is thunderbird,” Seeker said. “He will survive.”

Phil needed to read up on his Native American legends. His wolf, howled and whined, and they agreed all this was wrong. “Damn it, Nick.”

Fury kept his arm around him. “Ward went off the deep end. I thought if I got you back, you’d use your omega to put his wolf to sleep, and we’d get him some help.”

“And Barrett?”

“He was starting his own pack, and he wanted you in it. Ward was more loyal to him than me. It’s fucked up.” Fury put his hand on Phil’s face. “Shaking it off?”

“I have to go after him,” Phil watched until the thunderbird was gone from sight. “Seeker?”

“No. This is his flight.” Seeker cut a glance to Fury. “Clean up your mess.”

“Will do.” Fury nodded. “Let’s get you to medical, Heart.”

More than anything, Phil wanted to scream and rant, shift and run after his mate. He swallowed hard, vision going in and out, and he felt his knees give way again. “No.” But he didn’t have strength to resist Fury putting him on the quinjet and strapping him into a seat. The engines ramped up, they took off, and Lucky howled his grief.

They had a mate, but Hawkeye would never know it, might never come back, and Phil passed out. He woke up in medical on the helicarrier, an IV shoved in his arm, and he knew it was wrong, but he didn’t have the energy to keep Lucky from shifting them. Lucky dropped to the floor, staggered to get his paws working, and nurses came running.

Lucky took them toward the hanger deck, ignoring the pleas of doctors and snapping his teeth at Sitwell, who rushed up.

“Come on, Coulson! I’m trying to help!”

Pausing, Lucky smelled him, found the scent of Ward, put his wolf to sleep, and bit him on the leg.

“Ow, ow, ow! You shit!” Sitwell would’ve kicked Lucky, but Maria pushed him away. “I told Ward to be gentle with you! I did!”

“Coulson, get to the cafeteria and eat as much protein as possible. Sitwell, come with me.” Maria jerked him by the suit collar and dragged him away, yelling. Lucky growled, and Phil wondered how many rogue wolves SHIELD had in it. Too many, and Fury would clean house with a ruthless Heart next to him.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nine days after Hawkeye should have been at SHIELD.

For days, I stayed a thunderbird, not the car, snatching up the occasional rabbit and fishing when I could. I tried to think of reason to go back but came up with nothing. I hoped Coulson was okay. Fury would take care of him, and Jim had an entire tribe in his corner.

I never saw Seeker in the sky, not once, and I looked for him. Once, I flew to Bran’s house, but I didn’t land. There was nothing there for me, and I picked a random direction, flying until my wing burned. The bullet had nicked the joint, and most days it bled. I didn’t care. The pain helped me focus. Betsy was dead, like everyone else good in my life.

Not Lucky, but he was far away. I don’t know how I knew it, but I did. Coulson and Lucky were far enough that I knew they weren’t coming back to this end of the United States, and why would they.

Once or twice, I’d felt a tug that I was sure was related to that werewolf I’d sacrificed everything for, but I didn’t know what to do about it. It kept playing over and over again in my mind, like a movie on rewind. I took on two werewolves for another werewolf, and now Betsy was dead.

I was perched in a large tree, and the sun had gone down about an hour ago. I was hungry, tired, and I had nowhere to go. I tucked my head under my wing and rested. It started to rain, and rain, and rain, cold with chunks of sleet.

_Hawkeye, come home._

There was no way I’d imagined that, and I knew it was Bran, because no else could talk in my head. I’d asked him not to do that, but he hadn’t listened. I huddled in a little tighter and tried to sleep. The sun didn’t rise so much as peek out from behind some clouds and then give up. I was about ready to do the same.

My wing felt like it was on fire. I couldn’t tuck it properly, and I could see it’d been bleeding again. I shivered, feeling woozy. I jumped, trying to get moving, gliding and managing to catch some wind to go higher.

Figuring out where I was seemed important, and I drifted along a river, unable to flap higher and hoping I landed somewhere soft. I scanned, desperate, and then I saw it, almost like a dream. Mercy had talked a lot about her auto mechanic shop in the Tri-Cities, and I was pretty sure, it was up ahead. Either way, I was coming down to earth.

I managed to land on the hood of a Mercedes Benz, and I nearly slid off. Before my talons were secure, Mercy was in my face.

“Hawkeye, if you scratch that hood, I’ll kill you! Now, shift!”

Panicked, I tried to jump in the air, but all I managed was flopping onto my back, sliding to the ground and shifting. It wouldn’t have been so bad if I hadn’t landed in a mud puddle. Mercy stared down at me.

“Oh, Hawkeye.”

“Sorry,” I wheezed, shivering. Getting up seemed like a ridiculous idea, so I didn’t even try. “Betsy’s dead.”

“We have to talk.” Mercy got out her phone. “Adam, Hawkeye’s here, and no, I don’t know why. Call Bran.” She hung up and dialed again. “Samuel, I have a patient for you. I’m at the shop. It’s Hawkeye. Hurry.”

She tucked her phone away. “Everyone has been looking for you! Every werewolf in the country! You are a huge pain in the ass, just like your grandfather!”

“Thanks,” I whispered, throat sore and starting to feel light-headed. She got her hands under my armpits to haul me up, and I fainted dead away.

When the world came back, I heard people talking but nothing made sense, and I pushed at someone.

“Hawkeye, lie still.” Mercy was back in my face. “You could lose your arm if we don’t get you to a hospital. You were shot, you dumbass.”

“Oh. Yeah.” I could barely hear my voice. “Sorry. There were crazy werewolves, trying to kidnap Coulson, and Lucky, and then Betsy died.”

Her mouth moved, but I didn’t hear anything, and then the black swallowed me again.


	38. Chapter 38

Phil sat at his desk, doing nothing, but trying to look busy. There were things he could’ve been doing, like restructuring the SHIELD infrastructure now that seven werewolves and fifteen humans had been terminated, but all he was doing was sitting. He’d been this way for a week, and it was his wolf’s fault.

Lucky howled his sorrow at losing his mate, again, forcing a noise from Phil’s throat. Phil whispered, “I know. I know.”

The door to the office slammed open, and Phil glared up at his boss. “Whatever you want. No is the answer. I blame you for everything.”

“The Marrok called. Your thunderbird is in the Tri-Cities hospital.” Fury dropped Phil’s go-bag on the floor. “His doctor is a werewolf, son of the Marrok, and they’re saying he might lose his arm. Go. Now.”

Phil couldn’t think of a thing to say because Lucky was filling Phil’s head with a mixture of horror and happiness. He grabbed up his bag and ran for a quinjet. Every hour of the flight was miserable, and Lucky paced, whining.

As soon as the wheels touched concrete, Phil was down the ramp and sprinting for the hospital. He used his badge to gain access to Hawkeye’s room, and then he stood, unable to think or move. So many terrible smells: blood, pain, fear, and something that might’ve been burned feathers. He could feel Lucky, trying to force a change, but that wasn’t going to happen.

“Agent Coulson,” Jim said, rising from a chair tucked into the corner of the room.

“Mr. Alvin.” Phil put his bag in a corner and went to stand at the end of Hawkeye’s bed. He should’ve had things to say, but nothing was coming out. “What the hell?” he managed through a thick throat.

“He showed up at Mercy Hauptman’s auto shop.” Jim reached out and smoothed the blanket. “Like this. Dr. Cornick says Hawkeye was shot.”

Phil pulled at his tie, taking it off and stuffing it in his suit pocket. “After the fight, he had blood on him, but he flew away without any sort of limp. Birds don’t limp, but you understand what I mean.”

“Adrenaline.” Jim shrugged. “Or a farmer got him.”

Almost against his will, Phil edged closer and put his hand on Hawkeye’s leg. He clamped his lips tight against a whine, telling Lucky to settle down. “This is my fault.”

Jim went back to his chair and sipped at a coffee. “He was protecting you. Hawkeye is a hero, even when he doesn’t want to be. Also, he might be a little smitten with your wolf.”

There was a lot here that needed to be explained, but Phil didn’t know where to begin. “I’ll go give them his insurance information.”

“I think the Marrok paid cash.”

Phil needed to check, needed to do something that might help. His mate was lying in that hospital bed because of him, and it hurt like a stout kick to the balls. What was worse though was the underlying feeling that while his wolf and Hawkeye had formed a connection, Hawkeye felt nothing for him. Phil had never heard of a person’s wolf forming a bond with a human before the person had some say about it. Of course, Lucky had always been a bit… different.

Lucky snapped at him. _Better._ Phil was so shocked he had to lean against a wall and breathe deep. His hands shook, and he rubbed his face. Lucky – his wolf – had never spoken to him in anger. Phil understood now that his wolf wasn’t going to lie in his corner and behave any longer. This was what the dominants talked about – their wolf always up and in their face – and Phil didn’t know how to live that way.

“Omega, let me help.”

Yanking his hands down, Phil collapsed into the arms of Bran Cornick. Dimly, Phil heard Fury grumbling, but he needed this moment of respite. Lucky needed it, too. They both felt stronger when they pulled away from the Marrok.

“You have denied your wolf for too long. It’s going to hurt letting him inside.” The Marrok kept his arm around Phil’s shoulder. “Better?”

“Yes.” Phil took a rattling breath. “Thank you, Mr. Cornick.”

“Bran is fine.” Bran steered Phil to a chair in a nearby waiting room and sat him down. “Keep breathing.”

Phil nodded. “Fury is going to be angry.”

“He shouldn’t have left his omega in this state,” Bran said. “But some of this is your doing. Let me guess: you’ve always felt like your wolf was less than he should be, maybe a little slow or stupid.”

Phil clenched his jaw so it didn’t flap open. “We don’t hunt. We don’t fight,” he whispered.

“You’re _omega_. Our omega, Anna, doesn’t join in the kill. She just runs near the back, pouncing on leaves.” Bran smiled. “You don’t need to fight. You _know_ you’re better than the rest. You take care of the pack, whether they like it or not, and you keep your alpha honest. Phil, there are so few omegas that they don’t speak to one another, and there are more than a few who don’t know what they are. It’s not like we have omega support groups.”

“Maybe a Facebook page would work.” Phil wasn’t entirely serious, but he could see Bran think about it. “The dominants at Shield say my wolf is retarded.”

“Most dominants with a more military mindset can be difficult to deal with, trust me on that.” Bran’s eyes began to turn golden. “Also, Anna would tell you that word is incredibly offensive.”

“It is.” Phil lowered his head, never having met a wolf as old as the Marrok. “Director Fury is a good alpha.”

“He’s young. Chances are he hasn’t met any omegas yet.” Bran rubbed Phil on the shoulder, and he tried not to lean into it. “You’re also starved for touch. You can’t keep yourself so isolated. We’re pack. All of us, even when we fight over stupid things like territory and mates.”

“So, when Lucky comes out during the full moon, he runs a bit wild, looking for affection,” Phil said, seeing all the mistakes he’d made for hundreds of years and not knowing how to apologize to the wolf that lived inside him.

“Lucky?”

“Oh, Hawkeye calls my wolf that.” Phil blushed. “It sorta stuck in my head.”

Bran tilted his head and reached slowly enough that Phil could’ve moved away to touch him on the hand. He sniffed and then blinked. “Interesting.”

“I would have gone with ‘horrible’ to describe this situation. My wolf has taken a thunderbird for his mate. That’s why my smell is off.” Phil’s shoulders slumped. “And Hawkeye doesn’t like me at all. He has a sweet spot for Lucky, that’s all.”

The silence stretched, and then Bran chuffed out a big breath. “I’m staying out of that. You and Hawkeye will figure it out, but know that until he accepts your pack, he’s under my protection, and even then, he’s mine.”

Phil straightened up, not surprised that the Marrok felt so strongly about Hawkeye. “Would you like my cell phone number?”

“Yes.” Bran fished out his phone, and they exchanged numbers. “Fury and I need to meet regularly. He’s asking for trouble, operating in so many different alphas territories.”

“Shield goes wherever we’re needed. We are the shield that protects the innocent.” Phil lived his life by those words, and some small part of him hoped that someday Hawkeye would, too.

“Every six months should be fine. My European contacts can smooth the way in a lot of poor situations and help with security, also. I know you’re short-staffed right now.”

Leaning forward, Phil lowered his voice. “How do you know that?”

“Hawkeye saved Fury from losing his Heart to another alpha, and I’m very sure Fury cleaned house afterwards. In my mind, Fury owes Hawkeye a big debt.”

“So do I.” Phil got to his feet, having smelled another alpha coming down the hallway. He needed a minute to collect his thoughts, and Lucky needed him to pace. His phone rang, and he ignored it, knowing Nick was angry, but now was not the time for useless posturing. It was time to cooperate with the Marrok and make SHIELD a stronger organization.

“Da, I’m going to meet with Jim now about Hawkeye’s arm,” the strange alpha said.

Phil turned, and Lucky whined.

Bran nodded. “Samuel, this is Agent Phil Coulson, the Heart of Fury’s Shield. Agent Coulson, my son, Dr. Samuel Cornick.”

They exchanged a nod, and they all trooped down to Hawkeye’s room. Phil could smell blood and despair, and he knew what the diagnosis was going to be. The slight slump to Samuel’s shoulders only confirmed. He glanced at Bran, who shook his head in sadness.

“Damn it,” Phil said, and Lucky howled. The most they could hope for was the amputation was at the elbow, not the shoulder. Either way, Hawkeye would never want for anything – SHIELD would provide.

Samuel pushed open the door and stopped. Bran nearly bumped into him, and Phil couldn’t see a damn thing. It was Lucky that made Phil wiggle around and under until he could see what was happening with his mate. Jim was tapping a small drum, making a dull thud, thud, thud beat, but that wasn’t what had made Samuel stop.

Seeker, his red and blue wings spread wide, hovered over the top of Hawkeye. His wing tips nearly brushed the walls. There was no wind to hold him up, and Phil felt the tingle of magic. A crack of lightning outside the window made him jump, and before he could draw another breath, a huge gust of wind roared through the room. Everything that wasn’t nailed down flew, and the werewolves dropped to their hands and knees so they weren’t knocked down.

“Thunderbird,” someone whispered. Seeker let out a noise that hurt Phil’s ears and made Lucky howl. A clap of thunder, and he was gone, leaving nothing but the muffled beat of a drum behind. Phil didn’t remember going to the bed, but he was there, and he took Hawkeye by the hand on the arm that wasn’t swaddled in bandages. A prickle of electricity jumped between them, but Phil didn’t turn loose.

“Clint?”

Clint slitted an eye at him. “Is Lucky okay?” he whispered.

“He’s still crazy,” Phil said, throat tight, jealous of his own wolf.

“Good. I thought I heard him howl.”

Samuel took over after that. Phil drifted back to stand near Jim, hating it when Clint’s fingers slipped away, and let the doctor work. Bran was on the phone, and Phil felt like his insides were in a clenched ball. Nurses started piling into the room, cleaning and helping Samuel assess Hawkeye. Phil pressed his shoulders into the wall and knew he should leave, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Clint.

Lucky whimpered, worried, and they waited for Samuel to tell them what was going on. Clint was mumbling about this and that, but he was awake. Samuel looked over his shoulder and made eye contact with Phil. Shocked was the only word to describe the look on the doctor’s face.

“My arm? Mercy said I might lose it?” Clint’s question was loud enough to be heard by everyone.

“No,” Samuel said. “We got the antibiotics in you on time. You’ll be fine. Another day here and I’ll send you home.” Every werewolf in the room heard the lies, but no one wanted to try to explain to Clint what had really happened when none of them were sure what that even was.

“Hungry,” Clint grumbled, and more than just Phil chuckled. “Is Lucky here? I heard him.”

Phil cringed, wishing Clint wanted him, but he’d do right by his wolf. “I can get him,” he said.

Samuel’s eyebrows were up. “Wait until we’re all finished here, and Clint can have visitors after that.”

Jim eased to his feet and stepped to Clint’s beside. “I will return tomorrow, Hawkeye. Rest and do as the doctor says.” He smiled. “Phil will stay with you tonight.”

Clint grinned. “Thanks, Jim. Tell Mercy I’m sorry about the car.”

“You can tell her yourself. She’ll be in later.” Jim shook Samuel’s hand and left with an escort from Bran.

Phil understood now why Fury had warned against pissing off Seeker and incurring the wrath of thunderbolts. Seeker wasn’t _a_ thunderbird like Clint. He was _The_ Thunderbird, Clint’s grandfather. The possibilities made Phil pause, and he would open a file when he got back to his office.


	39. Chapter 39

I hurt everywhere, not just my arm, but it was staying on my body, that was what mattered. Phil and Lucky were here, and I’d thought I’d never see them again. They’d come back, and that meant something. I didn’t understand everything that had happened, like why nurses were picking up bandages off the floor, but Samuel was telling me I’d be fine.

“I guess I’m late to work,” I said, trying to sound louder than a whisper, even my voice seemed tired. “Is Fury mad at me?”

Phil answered. “No. You’ll get there, if you want. I could help.” He sounded a little worried.

“Good. Someday, I may even get a real driver’s license with you behind me pushing.”

“It’s fake?”

I zoned out as Phil went on a rant about the importance of driver’s education. Samuel grinned and finished the bandage on my arm. “I like your mate. Now, listen, rest and eat and take your meds. Don’t do much else. No bow and arrows. You may need some physical therapy to get back full range of movement. I’m sure Phil will help you find someone well-qualified.”

“Yeah, me too.” I didn’t understand the ‘mate’ part of that sentence, but there was a worse problem. “Do I owe the hospital a ton of money? I could sell my trailer.” It hurt so bad to say those words that my eyes stung.

“My da paid the bill. He said we owed you, and I agree.” Samuel helped me get settled so everything didn’t hurt quite so much. “Dinner is coming. If you need to use the restroom, call for help.”

“You sure? This shit is expensive,” I blurted out, unable to believe it.

“Da is a millionaire. Might be billion. I don’t keep track. That’s Charles’ job.” Samuel gave me a gentle pat. “Close your mouth. Rest. No visitors past eleven.”

“Okay.” I grabbed him by the arm. “Thanks.”

Samuel ducked his head and started herding nurses out of my room. It wasn’t long before the room was empty, except for me and Phil, who had his hands shoved in his pocket and was staring up at the TV, even though it wasn’t on. I knew he’d heard Samuel, and the whole ‘mate’ thing, so I might as well make him blush before I fell asleep.

“So, I missed the mating. Shame.” I grinned when he whipped around. “Were you going to tell me? That we’re mates?”

“Clint, I’m sorry.” Phil’s face screwed up like he might die of embarrassment. “Lucky likes you. A lot. In werewolves, the wolves can choose different mates than the humans.”

“Is that why Bran’s mate is so mean?” I wondered.

“She is?” Phil shrugged. “Sometimes our wolves mate, and sometimes the humans choose each other and then the wolves decide they’re okay with it. It’s complicated. Your, um, thunderbird? Does he talk to you?”

I was tired, but I was pretty sure I’d heard him right. “Skinwalkers are different. Mercy told me. We are who we are, fur, feathers, or skin.” I saw him think about that, and then everything got fuzzy, and I fell asleep.

When I woke up, groggy and disoriented, wishing I needed to feed Betsy, someone licked my face. I managed to get an arm up, finding fur, and I smiled. “Lucky, stop that.”

Lucky whimpered, and his paw gently touched my good arm. “Yeah, I’m here, buddy.”

“Easy,” Mercy said. “He wants to jump in your lap.”

“Help me up, fun-sized furball.” I struggled with the button to raise the bed and the stupid pillow. She growled at me, Lucky gave a yelp, and I got the gunk out of my eyes. The smell of the food helped motivate me to live. That and Lucky’s sweet face. He managed to wiggle his large ass on the bed on the side away from my sore arm. Mercy fussed at him, and I cuddled him, even with the IV cord in the way.

“You’re encouraging him!” Mercy protested and then laughed. “Okay, both of you settle down, and I’ll put the food close.”

“Food,” I agreed. “Lucky, you need to tell Phil that I like him. I mean, don’t let him be all growly. You’d hate that.”

Lucky grinned.

“You two are weird.” Mercy got us through the whole eating process. My sore arm didn’t get much use, but it was better. I’d be flying again soon. After I ate, I felt stronger, almost human. I let Lucky eat the last of the beef tips, and Mercy rolled her eyes. “Okay, we need to talk. Lucky, be quiet.”

I bit my lips so I didn’t smile, and Lucky made a grunting noise that probably meant fuck you. He was like that.

She cleared away all the bowls and cups back to the tray and got herself a cup of water. “This is the thing. Betsy isn’t dead.”

My eyes couldn’t get any wider. I stared at her, a tiny bit of hope flaring in my heart. “She was shot, and then Seeker touched her and she disappeared. She’s gone.” My voice cracked on the last word.

Mercy nodded. “I know, but Hawkeye, listen, you know how your grandfather is Thunderbird, and my dad is Coyote.”

“And Charles’ great-grandfather was Wolf,” I said, going along with her.

“Really?” She stopped. “That explains a few things. I’ll tease him later. Anyway, Betsy was Horse, with a capital H. She was born into this world and lived in that body. When that body was killed, she disappeared, but she returned the following morning.”

“Like when Seeker said he died?”

“Yes, and wasn’t that a terrible day.” She grimaced. “Betsy, the horse, is gone. I’m sorry. But the spirit within her, the thing that made her special was Horse, and believe me, she came back the next morning. A million little girls who sleep with plastic horses made sure of that.”

My gut reaction was disbelief, but Seeker had said a few weird things, and I’d seen a woman, that time in the forest. “Betsy was Horse,” I said, trying it out. “Does she have children, like you and me?”

“You’d have to ask her.” Mercy sipped her water. “Mourn for Betsy, but please stop flying away to grieve on the mountain because you’ll see Horse again.”

“That was rude, but honest.” I glared at her, stroking Lucky, who licked my hand. “She was like a mother to me.”

“Exactly. Horse is the mother to us all. Her people founded this nation.” Mercy smiled. “She kept you safe until you could find your grandfather and learn to fly.”

It was true. Without Betsy I’d have never made it this far. “She liked Phil.”

“If you say so.” Mercy got to her feet, pacing now. “I have to go soon. Adam is cranky.”

“Dominants are always cranky.” I turned on the TV. “And sorry about that car.”

“It buffed out. Thanks for not dying. Jim would’ve killed me.” She hurried back to me, kissed me on the cheek and Lucky on the forehead. “Bye.”

In a blink, she was gone. I touched my cheek. “She kissed me first.”

Lucky huffed and burrowed until he was stretched out flat. I sighed. “Bed hog.” After a second or two, I smiled. Grief, yes, but the gut-wrenching horror could be laid to rest. I curled my fingers into Lucky’s fur and let it go. Betsy had died doing exactly what she wanted to do, shielding me from evil, and I would honor her memory by going and protecting others.


	40. Chapter 40

Lucky slunk off the bed when Samuel crooked his finger at him. Fifteen minutes later, Phil tucked his tie in his pocket and slung his jacket over his shoulder.

“Bran is waiting for you out front. There’s someone who’d like to meet you,” Samuel said when they were other side of Clint’s door. “I’ll watch him.”

Phil curled his lip, not sure.

“I will stay in that room until you return. My word.”

No lie, and Phil gave a bare nod. He and Lucky were satisfied enough to go see what Bran needed. Leaving a wounded mate wasn’t something either of them would do lightly. The sun wasn’t even thinking about coming up when Phil stepped out the front door. There was a limo, and he could smell Bran inside so he took a seat, eyes alighting on a young lady sitting across from him.

“Agent Phil Coulson,” he said.

“Anna Cornick.” She smiled. “The limousine was an indulgence on Bran’s part. I’ve never been in one.”

Tilting his head, Phil studied her, and then it clicked. “Omega.”

“And you.” Anna leaned forward and extended her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Phil shook her hand, careful not to squeeze. “Charles belongs to you.”

“Nicely done, and yes. He’s back at the hotel. Doesn’t like cars, even long ones.” Anna moved to sit next to him. “What is that spicy scent?”

“My mate. Clint Barton.” Phil had decided the fact that Clint was a thunderbird was ‘need to know,’ and she didn’t need to know.

“I like it.” Anna hooked her thumb at Bran, who was lounging in the far corner. “He can be difficult about details.”

“It’s an alpha thing.” Phil caught her eyes with his own, and they laughed together. She twined her fingers into his, and his initial reaction was to pull away, insist on it, but Bran raised his eyebrows, and Phil stopped. There was no harm in it, and Lucky liked her. She tucked herself into his shoulder, some part of him relaxed, and he knew she’d done it.

“Better?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Phil would remember. He could do this for other stressed wolves, maybe, with practice. “Tell me everything you know.”

“We should get breakfast, so we can talk. How long have you been an omega?”

He looked away from her, reluctantly deciding it was okay to tell the story. “Since 1756. French and Indian War. My friend and I were turned by the same wolf. He was a slave. I was a bookkeeper.” He shrugged, embarrassed at her shocked face. “You?”

“Three years ago.”

“You’re a puppy.” Phil clasped her hand and patted it. “Is your alpha taking care of you?”

Bran growled, and they both ignored him. She smiled. “He is. Stubborn as a mule, but kind.”

“The trick to dealing with mules is this: first, get their attention, and then try to reason with them. People recommend a two by four for the first part.” Phil smiled, and she laughed.

“Oh, Phil, we are going to be such good friends.”


	41. Chapter 41

I woke with a start and immediately started moving for the bathroom, fumbling and cursing. Lucky was gone, but something told me he was fine.

“Whoa, slow down,” Samuel said, coming to help by moving the IV pole and making sure I didn’t fall down. “Easy, Hawkeye.”

“Gotta pee.” I grimaced in pain when I forgot my arm didn’t want to do much, and then Samuel took over, and we got it done. He helped me clean up, and I was grateful, feeling weak as a newborn colt. And I decided never to use that cliché again. It hurt too much. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Samuel got me re-settled on the bed. “Let me take this out.” He had the IV out in seconds. “Nurses usually do these types of jobs, but I promised Phil I’d stay with you until he returned. You’d think he was worried about you or something.”

“Weird, huh?” I muttered, ready to go home. “I can go?”

“Eat a meal. Keep it down. We’ll get you out of here by noon.” Samuel fussed around me, doing this and that, and I stayed quiet, not sure what to say. It was only when I caught Samuel staring out the window with a wistful look on his face did I decide to speak up.

“You okay?”

“Of course,” Samuel said, turning fast, smile on his face.

“Wow, does anyone believe that?” I tucked a pillow under my sore arm. It helped.

“No.” Samuel shrugged. “I’m old, tired.”

I thought about living for centuries, watching people and animals you love die. “Most werewolves, do they have family like you do?”

“Live long enough, everyone dies.” He sounded bitter, angry.

I couldn’t argue with that, and telling Samuel that he had a family and to buck up seemed cruel. “Not werewolves?”

“We go crazy, if we live long enough.” Samuel shuddered, like he knew about it.

That surprised me. I took a drink from the cup Samuel had poured me and hoped Phil never went nuts. “I want to live to thirty. That’s my goal.”

“You need to work harder at it, birdbrain. You almost died two days ago.” Samuel crossed his arms and gave me the stink eye.

“I wouldn’t be here at all if it weren’t for crazy ass werewolves.” I glared right back at him. “He even broke my bow!”

Samuel groaned. “You’re supposed to at least look a little worried when I loom over you. I’m a big alpha! I could eat you!”

“Dream on, furball. I’m a thunderbird. I’ll rip you a new asshole.” I leaned back and relaxed. “I’m tired. Shut up.”

After a minute, Samuel laughed. “Hawkeye, you give me hope. I’m not even sure why.”

My eyes were heavy, and I fell asleep without answering, but I woke right up when I smelled food. Samuel was gone, a nurse was setting a tray of food on the side table, and Phil looked rumpled and tired. He smiled, though, when he saw I was awake, and he came over to help. My stomach rumbled, and I found a few words. “You came back.” It wasn’t what I’d meant to say, and I found something else to look at that wasn’t judging me.

“This is where I want to be,” Phil said, touching me on the hand in a move that reminded me of Lucky’s gentle pat. “Where we both want to be.”

“Good you two are getting along.” I kept my gaze away from his face and started making all the adjustments that come with eating in bed. “Where were you?”

Phil made sure I had everything I could possibly want before pulling up a chair and sitting down. I noticed he was between me and the door, but that was okay. I took a bite or two of some toast. Phil looked relaxed, not quite so uptight.

“I was having a long breakfast with a young lady.”

“Got laid, huh? You look like it.” I wasn’t jealous, damn it.

“We ate breakfast at Denny’s.” Phil furrowed his brow. “With Bran, who growls a lot.”

“He does?” I hadn’t noticed, but those lower tones were hard to hear. “Was she nice?”

“Yes, and I learned a great deal between the two of them.” Phil sounded satisfied. “Did you know if two werewolves isolate themselves for hundreds of years, we get a few things wrong?”

I chewed, took a drink of orange juice and swallowed. “You mean you and Fury?”

“Yes. We were so scared, and we spent years hiding, fighting, and hiding some more, and then we found a purpose.” Phil leaned forward and pressed his hands together. “We always made our own wolves, and we picked up a little here and there, becoming more and more insulated. It was a mistake.”

I’ll admit, I was interested to hear more. “You and Fury?”

“Yes.” Phil reached and stole a mini-muffin. I slapped at his hand but missed. Phil didn’t even flinch. He popped it in his mouth and chewed.

“So I know more about werewolves than you do?” I teased him. “First, they have horrendous breath. Secondly, they are furballs. Lastly, they steal food!” I shoved the last muffin in my mouth, snatching it right before he got there.

Phil smiled. “My breath is not horrendous, but Lucky is a bit furry, and you can’t prove the food allegations.”

I ducked my head at the force of his smile. He shuffled the chair, and I looked him in the eye. Neither of us backed away from it.

“Clint, because of you, Fury and I were able to keep SHIELD. Thank you for saving my furry butt.”

Laughing, I nodded. “You’re welcome.” Then I had a thought. “Who were those morons?” If they hadn’t been dead, I’d have tracked them down for what they’d done to Betsy.

“Garrett and Ward. They had this brilliant idea that they’d take over the pack, using me to do it.” Phil grimaced. “I’d put Fury’s wolf to sleep, and then Garrett would kill him.”

“You can do that? Really?” It still sounded like magic, but then again, they were werewolves.

“Really.”

I pushed some yellow stuff that might be eggs aside with my spoon. “How, um, how would they have made you do it?”

Phil looked at the floor. “Ward was going to mate with me, force it, and then he’d make me through the bond. He didn’t know that Lucky had already chosen you.”

“Those fuckers,” I ground out. “But why now?” I knew there was more to this story, and I wanted to hear why Betsy had to die.

“Fury keeps me close. This has been my first trip to… anywhere in years. They tracked my phone and then grabbed an opportunity to snatch me.” Phil stood, reached over the orange juice and snagged the lukewarm coffee. He sat and drank most of it in one gulp.

“The dumb thing? The thing that makes me angry? Is that it wouldn’t even have worked. I’m an omega. We don’t follow orders or look down. I’d have never done what Ward said. Senseless.”

“Ward didn’t know that omegas are stubborn jerks.” I pushed the food away, done. “I could’ve told him, and Betsy would be alive.”

Now Phil winced. He lowered his head. “I am sorry.”

“I know.” I felt like a shit, but the anger was still too fresh for me to pretend it didn’t hurt. So, I changed the subject. “When am I due at work?”

“We’ll get there.” Phil finished his coffee and stood to throw the cup away. “Shield will always be in your debt.”

“That and two quarters will get me a cup of coffee,” I grumbled, but I saw that he meant it.

After a moment, Phil laughed. “Guess you haven’t been to Starbucks lately."


	42. Chapter 42

Phil was surprised at how he felt when Jim turned the pickup off the road to bump up the lane to the ranch. He felt… pleased, almost happy. Lucky was ecstatic, wanting a run as soon as the truck stopped.

“Ow,” Clint muttered, and Phil tilted his hips away to make sure he didn’t hit Clint’s injured arm. Jim slowed down, and Lucky wanted them to get out and run alongside. Phil told him to forget it. It’d been after one before they’d escaped the hospital with the proper meds and an irritated thunderbird. Bran, Anna, and Charles had gone home, after promising to keep in touch. Phil was looking forward to it, and he’d make Fury understand. They’d been through too much alone, and it was time to make SHIELD stronger through strong allies.

Jim pulled to a stop, and Phil got out first, trying to help Clint and not surprised when he glared. Clint shook his head, cast a glance at his trailer, and stomped away to the barn. Phil sincerely hoped they weren’t starting this all over again. Lucky suggested they shift just in case they needed to run after him.

For once, it wasn’t a terrible idea, and Phil nodded to Jim before taking his things to the trailer to shift. Lucky found Clint, tucked into the corner of the hay loft with a chicken in his lap. Jealousy was his first emotion, of a chicken, that looked delicious.

“You will not eat Bug, understand, furface?” Clint’s voice sounded like gravel.

Lucky sat, whined softly, and waited. When that didn’t work, he lowered himself to his belly and crawled to him, trying to shove his nose under the chicken. That lap belonged to Lucky. Clint rapped Lucky on the forehead.

“Gentle.” Clint put the chicken to the side, releasing it to squawk and dig in the scraps of hay. Lucky wagged his tail, wanting to swarm him, but the sadness kept him back. If Clint didn’t want him, Lucky wouldn’t. Maybe. He buried his face in Clint’s lap and put his paws over his eyes. He didn’t want to see Clint angry at him. “You’re not a werewolf. You’re a poodle.”

Trying to growl fiercely, Lucky peeked out of one eye.

“A poodle wolf.” Clint tugged at Lucky until his lap was full and then he put his head down on Lucky’s, just breathing, not talking. Lucky made sure his tail didn’t bump Clint’s sore arm. That would be bad. Clint’s hand stroked through Lucky’s fur over and over again. “I was there when she was born. It was like a miracle. I hadn’t even known that horse was pregnant, and then bang, a foal comes out. I know life has to change, and life isn’t fair, and all that bullshit, but geez.”

Those were smart words, and Lucky stretched enough to lick Clint’s hand. It was scary to think that life was never fair to Clint. Lucky would change that, somehow. He reached deep inside himself and pushed his love at him.

Clint grunted like he’d been punched, and tilted his head so they were gold eye to blue eye. “I love you, too. Guess that’s the whole mating thing, huh? Never thought I’d get within ten feet of a werewolf without knifing it, but then again, you’re special. You’re the best of a bad lot.”

Lucky liked the sound of that. He sat up and leaned against Clint’s side. He’d protect Clint and make sure no werewolf ever even looked at him again.

“Oh, stop growling for no reason, ya goofball.” Clint used Lucky to get to his feet. “I gotta go nap, or sleep here in the hay.” They went down the long stairway together, and Lucky stayed close unless Clint needed help. Clint smelled extra sad when they went by the trailer, but they went into the house, and Lucky made sure to get his tail inside.

Jim was in his usual spot, and Lucky went over to wag his tail politely and make sure Jim wasn’t an alien replacement. Fool him once, never again. Clint went on upstairs, one slow stair at a time, and Lucky trotted up after him.

“Wow,” Clint said, going to above the bed and pulling a bow off the wall. Lucky thought it was Clint’s broken bow, but it looked very different now. Clint sat on the edge of the bed and ran his hands all over it. Bits of beads and feathers were here and there and Lucky smelled rabbit fur around the middle.

“I asked Samuel Jack to take a look at it. He’s made a few bows. He said it’d never pull again, but I thought, maybe, you’d like it back in one piece.” Jim sounded tentative to Lucky’s ears.

“The old guy I chopped wood for?” Clint asked and received Jim’s nod. His eyes were a little watery. “Is that a thunderbird etched on it?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Tell him thanks. It’s a work of art.”

Lucky put his head on Clint’s knee. Jim smiled, smelling content. “I will. Rest and I will make your favorite for dinner.”

Lucky pricked up his ears, hoping for pizza.

“Pancakes?” Clint looked hopeful. “Lots of bacon?”

“With extra for your werewolf. If he can eat as much bacon as the Marrok, I should’ve gotten a whole pig.”

They laughed together, and Clint smelled less sad. Lucky nuzzled him in the direction of flatness and crawled up beside him to keep him warm and safe while he slept.


	43. Chapter 43

After a shower, I toddled downstairs, feeling achy but smelling the bacon, and Coulson came in the back door about the time I sat down at the table. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt with a red star in the middle. I’m sure I stared for longer than was polite. He looked like an entirely different person, more like Lucky somehow, and I liked it.

“Yes, I have casual clothes,” he grumbled at me. “Why isn’t your arm bandaged? No one wants to see that at the dinner table.”

I cradled it closer, hating feeling weak. “Are you clucking at me?”

“Yes. Did you take your meds yet?” Phil glared, and I crumbled, not even strong enough to glare back at him. He bandaged my arm, forced medication down my throat, and then plunked himself down in the chair next to me. “You’re a thunderbird not a dodo bird.”

“I will shit on your desk,” I said with a smile.

“I knew you were to blame for my car.” Coulson made me put on the sling the hospital had sent, but his touch was gentle, not rough. “You need to get well so you can go flying.”

“Much call for that at Shield?” I still felt muzzy from sleep, or maybe that was the medications. I’d never taken antibiotics before, so who knew what they were doing to me.

“I’m sure you’ll find reasons.” Phil stayed close, not moving away. He smelled good, not like furballs normally did, and he was warm. I could feel the heat coming off him. There was no reason for what I did, but I put my head on his shoulder, just to rest, a minute. Phil made a noise like it hurt him, and I lifted to look in his eyes. Phil swallowed hard. I could see all the doubt and uncertainty right there on his face. He knew I loved Lucky, but he was pretty sure I didn’t even like him.

“Phil, I like you, okay? We’ll work it out.” I put my head down again. “Why aren’t there pancakes yet?”

“So whiny.” Phil might possibly have kissed my forehead. Something touched me there. I shut my eyes and did nothing but breathe. Phil whispered, “Thanks.” I didn’t know why he was grateful, but in some small way, I was, too. Deep down, where it counted, I knew I could trust him, and he was on a very short list.

The door shut, and I mustered the energy to look, seeing Calvin. I straightened up a little. “Hey.”

“I heard there were pancakes.” He grinned and went to the kitchen to help. I probably should’ve done that, but if someone bumped my arm I might cry. Phil glanced at me.

“Should I help?”

“No, he’ll just hit you with a spatula. Trust me.” I took the coffee Calvin brought me gratefully. “Thanks, Calvin.”

“Glad you’re feeling better. The whole tribe has been looking for you.”

My eyebrows went up. “For me?”

“You’re family, of course.” Calvin rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry about your horse.”

“Thanks,” I managed to say around a lump in my throat. It seemed I’d found a family and a home, and no one hated me. I missed Betsy.

Calvin shot Phil a look. “Get your own coffee, wolf.”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “Never change, dude. Never change.”

Phil stole my coffee and took a sip. “Gah, cream and sugar!” He went to get his usual black coffee, and I watched his ass, thinking of touching. I thought maybe he’d be open to a little messing around later.

“Wow, what did you give me? I feel good.” I might’ve drawled out the last word.

“A pain pill. Maybe I’ll go with half next time.” Phil sat down next to me again, and we both flinched a tiny bit when the back door slammed open and my grandpa strode inside.

“Pancakes!” He looked like he’d been fighting headwinds, hair blown crazy. “Grandson!”

“Hey, Gramps.” I grinned, glad to see the old guy. “Good weather for flying?”

“Brisk!” He grinned back at me. “I am happy you still have your wings.”

“Me too.” I eased to my feet, feeling like I might fall down, and gave him a hug. “I looked for you in the sky.”

“I was letting you grow up.” Seeker tugged my hair. “Next time, don’t fly with a shot wing.”

“If you say so.” I managed to get my butt back in the chair. The smell of bacon was starting to make my mouth water, and I leaned close to Phil’s ear. “I thought Lucky wanted bacon?”

“I wanted pancakes,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “Disappointed?”

“Nope.” It was true, and I hoped he knew it. The door opened again, this time for Hank and Fred Owens, hawk skinwalkers, and I knew how this was going. People would be dropping in all evening, and I wondered if Jim had enough pancake mix.

After even Phil was full of bacon, we wandered out to the fire pit to listen to the drum. Phil hadn’t left my side all evening, and it was a strange feeling to know that he wanted to be there. The fire crackled, sending sparks up into the cool fall night, and there was hint of winter in the air. A promise of snow in the future, and I wondered what Christmas would be like here. Tribe members milled about, talking about this and that, but there were always dancers in full dress. Maybe it was the pain pill, but tonight I stared closely at them.

“What is it?” Phil asked.

“The dancers,” I said.

Phil furrowed his brow. “No one is dancing. Are you hallucinating?”

I laughed, understanding now that I’d been seeing ghosts. I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I’ll explain someday.” I laced my fingers through his, enjoying the warm touch and the start of surprise. His smile was immediate. I winked. “Let’s go inside. I haven’t seen Jim all night.”

“He might be collapsed in a pile of pancakes.”

We laughed and went inside, but Jim wasn’t in the kitchen. No, he was in the living room, near the fireplace, talking to a woman I’d never seen at the house. Jim waved us over.

“Elizabeth Nektosha of the Potawatomi tribe, this is Agent Phil Coulson of the Shield pack and my cousin, Clint Barton, Wishram and Yakama. Clint goes by Hawkeye.” Jim’s smile was wide, and he had a hand tucked into her back. I was having a hard time not gaping at them. She was shorter than most, gray hair braided down the back, and she had brown eyes that smiled. I liked her instantly.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, and Phil echoed me. “Are you new to town?”

“I moved here from Kansas last week. Jim has been showing me around.” She smiled and somehow pulled me into a hug. “It’s great to meet you. You’re famous in the Midwest. I caught your act several times over the years.”

I blushed, and Phil grinned. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Seeker, and he looked as if he had a secret.

“Call me Betty. I think we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other. I’m very fond of your cousin.” And she laughed, a pretty sound, and now Jim blushed.

Jim cleared his throat. “She’s living with a friend in Yakima.”

I bit back the words ‘for now’ because I could a possessive gleam in Jim’s eye. I hoped his dead wife didn’t mind.

“Maybe you can show me the horses later, Hawkeye,” Betty said.

“Love to,” I said and found an excuse to flee. “Phil and I were checking to see if there was more bacon.”

Laughing, Jim nodded, and we tried to get to the kitchen without looking as if we were rushing.

“Betty?” Phil asked.

“The horses?” I asked.

We stared at each other. I shrugged first. “Mercy said Horse would be back. I just didn’t expect her to date Jim.”

After a second, we started giggling like teenagers, and I leaned on him hard enough to fall down if he let go. He didn’t. There was more food and friends, but not long after midnight, I gave up trying to make my legs work.

“Hey, I’m going upstairs,” I said to Phil, hauling myself towards the house and making the door before he answered.

“I’ll go sleep in the trailer.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. “You sure? It’s cold out.”

There was a long pause. “You want Lucky to sleep with you? I usually don’t shift twice in a day. It hurts too much, but I could.”

I’d never thought that it might hurt, but having your organs on the outside did sound painful now that I thought about it. I did like sleeping with Lucky. “No, but you can come up, if you want.”

Phil froze, and I saw his throat muscles bob. He opened his mouth and shut it. I could almost hear him panicking. He guided me to a corner and whispered in my ear, “I’m gay.”

“I figured that out from Lucky,” I said. “He put his nose in my lap one too many times.”

“I told him to stop!” Phil blushed red. He rubbed his forehead. “I’m sorry.”

Seeing that he was really upset, I took him by the hand. “It’s okay.”

“It’s really not.” Phil looked down at his shoes. “It’s not accepted in the packs. If I wasn’t omega, I’d be killed.”

I tugged him up the stairs with me, turned on the lamp, and waited until the door shut behind us. “Mercy’s pack has a gay dominant. She said it’s been tough on him, but he’s a third now.”

“I’m shocked they let him live,” Phil growled. He turned away from me. “I’m omega and gay. Just a freak, I guess.”

Now, the suit, the sunglasses, and the face that showed no emotion all made sense. Phil had built himself a suit of armor so the other werewolves at SHIELD would respect him, or at least, leave him alone. I had a feeling my next words were going to be important, and I took an extra second to think about how I’d always felt like a freak, growing up in a circus. Always being the outsider, the one left behind, and how much it hurt, even when I said I didn’t care. Phil and I weren’t ever going to be a normal… anything. His wolf had mated to me while he was still complaining about my attitude.

“Being different is hard,” I said, stepping back to give him room and sitting on the bed. I’d learned from Bran that pushing a distressed wolf was never a good idea, even if that wolf liked me. “I bet you’ve had a lot more years feeling that way than I have.”

Phil turned and grimaced. “You’re half-asleep. Let me help.”

I yawned, unable to help myself, and he bullied me into getting ready for bed. My arm hurt, throbbing a little, and he helped me get my shirt off. Before long, I was under the covers, half-asleep. Out of habit, I listened for Betsy, but she wasn’t there, and life as a thunderbird seemed a lot safer than human.

“Phil, stay close, okay? Listen for me? If the werewolves come?” I had to ask because I knew I couldn’t stay up any longer. “Betsy is gone.”

A strong hand stroked through my hair, settling me. “I’ll keep watch. I’ll _always_ keep watch.” The promise sent me to sleep.


	44. Chapter 44

Phil sat with his back to the headboard, shoes kicked off, stroking Clint’s hair and listening to him sleep. Clint trusted him, now that Betsy was gone, and it was a bigger responsibility than Phil had imagined. Lucky growled, willing to die trying, and Phil agreed. They weren’t Betsy, who had, in fact, been a spiritual being, but they’d do their best to be Clint’s ears. Also, Clint was going to see a SHIELD doctor, as soon as possible. It might be wax build-up for all Phil knew.

He’d spilled out his guts tonight to Clint, expecting a joke or a shrug. Instead, he’d received acceptance, understanding, and the fact that other gay werewolves existed. It was like Christmas had come early. He wasn’t alone, after all.

His phone vibrated in his jeans, and he dug it out, keeping his voice low enough not to wake up Clint. “Yes?”

“Change is coming, huh?” Fury asked.

“Maybe it’s time.” Phil listened but Clint wasn’t stirring. “Too many people count on us. We can’t lag behind.”

Fury grunted. “Be the liaison with the Marrok. That way he’ll stop calling me.”

Unable to help himself, Phil laughed. He sobered up fast at his next question. “Who is going to be the handler for Hawkeye?”

“Well, I had someone in mind, but he doesn’t handle young agents.”

Phil didn’t appreciate Fury’s attitude. “I’ve changed my mind on that topic.”

“Good.” Fury barked out a laugh. “Is he ready?”

“Yes.” Phil was sure of it. “I’m going to keep him. Don’t think otherwise.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I could smell him on you. I guess Lucky got tired of waiting for you to find someone, so he went out and did it himself.”

“Turns out Lucky is pretty smart.” Phil would listen to his wolf in the future. Lucky snorted, doubting it.

“I’m sending a quinjet tomorrow night. Authorization: beta Charlie omega 15. Got it?”

“Got it.”

Fury disconnected, and Phil tucked his phone away. He shut off the lamp and found a comfortable spot on the bed within touching distance. Lucky thought they should get under the covers, but Phil wasn’t ready to make that assumption. He listened, finding no one who shouldn’t be there, and drifted.


	45. Chapter 45

Waking up took a minute, and my first thought was that I needed to feed Betsy. Depressed, I curled a little tighter into the covers and realized someone warm was tucked in behind me, under the covers. Careful of my arm, I snuggled back into him, needing his touch.

A growl rumbled through me, and I turned my head enough to see him. Phil’s eyes glowed golden. “Stay,” he said, and I had the feeling I was talking to Lucky, which I hadn’t known was possible. There really were two of them in there, sorta. Wherever Phil went, he had a friend. He really was lucky, and I grinned at my own joke. Phil was Lucky, and I smothered a laugh.

“I had nothing to do with this,” Phil said, body going tense, and I could feel him trying to slip away. I rolled to my back, keeping my right arm close, seeing blue eyes. He let out a huffy groan. “I should go.”

“Why?” I noticed he still had his clothes on, so Lucky hadn’t done a complete job of it. “I like Lucky. Lucky likes me. You like me, I think, and I like you. Do either of you hate my thunderbird?”

“Lucky calls him ‘the great stinking thing that is my mate,’” Phil said, humor in his voice.

“Tell Lucky I’m hiding the leftover bacon,” I grumbled, offended. “I don’t stink!”

“To a werewolf, it is a bit… strong.” Phil inched closer. “Like burned feathers.”

“Well, Gramps does throw a mean lightning bolt.” I resigned myself to being smelly. “Maybe it’ll keep the other werewolves away.”

“I’ll keep the other werewolves away,” Phil growled, pressing against me now.

“Good. I hate werewolves. Buncha furballs.” I shifted enough to tug at Phil’s shirt with my left hand. “I wanta smell you, maybe it’s terrible.”

Phil took his shirt off without my help, but I already knew I liked the way he smelled, looked, and felt, and his growl was adorable. I took an exaggerated sniff. “Yuck.”

He laughed, and somehow we curled together, touching and being careful. I was glad Barney wasn’t around to smack me for this. Phil nuzzled me, not kissing my lips but trailing kisses down my body. He didn’t bite or growl. I slipped my hand through his hair, groaning from the simple touches, needing more, but when I pushed into his mouth it hurt enough to discourage me from doing that again.

“Do some slow stretches. Your muscles are tight.” Phil rubbed his hand across my stomach. “I think you stayed a bird so long, you forgot how to human.”

I started flexing and relaxing, and Phil moaned while he ramped up the kissing. I didn’t even know how he got my shorts off or the covers back, but I nearly came when he took my cock in his mouth and slid all the way down to my balls.

“Jesus Christ on a pony,” I moaned. “How is that even possible?”

“No gag reflex.” Phil licked a stripe down to my balls and then throated me again. He didn’t let up until I cried out and came in his mouth. I half-expected him to spit it out, but he swallowed, and I wanted to do that again as soon as possible. Panting, I clutched his arm, and he kissed me. We kissed for hours, felt like it, and he rutted against my leg. Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer, and I moved down, got on my good side, and took his cock in my mouth. He was big, not circumcised, which was a surprise, and he barely moved an inch. “Be careful, Clint.”

“Sure,” I gasped, and I’ll admit, I played around, exploring, finding out what made him gasp. When his hand landed in my hair, I knew he was close, and I pulled my mouth off so I could watch it shoot up his body. He looked crazy, mouth open and gasping, sweaty and eyes flicking between gold and blue. I collapsed down to put my head on his thigh. “I knew that’d be fun.”

“Lucky wants to shift,” Phil said, gasping. “Okay?”

“Not on the bed,” I said, trying to sound firm and pushing with my good arm until I was sitting up. “Bathroom. Now. And Phil, Lucky is always welcome in my lap.”

“Good to know,” Phil kissed me hard before staggering to the bathroom. I took another long stretch and then joined him, getting in the shower while he did his thing. The bandage came off, and I could see it was healing. Still hurt like hell, but I’d be back to pulling a bow in no time. Before the soap was out of my eyes, Lucky stuck his big nose around the shower curtain.

“Give me a minute, boy,” I said, rinsing and flicking off the water. Lucky bounced, pranced, licked, and made woo-hoo noises. I took this to mean that he’d enjoyed the sex as well. Laughing, I snapped him with a towel and tried to keep him from shredding it. He won that battle. I dressed before cleaning up the mess. We padded downstairs together, and Jim gave me a look from the kitchen table that told me the walls needed better insulation.

“Sorry?” I asked, trying to look innocent and like I hadn’t had great sex or a towel fight.

“I don’t want to know.” He sipped his coffee. “You and Lucky need to eat and then go clean up the yard from the get together last night. Make sure John Thundercloud isn’t asleep in a lawn chair, again. You also need to get your trailer ready for winter.”

I went for coffee, keeping Lucky from raiding the fridge. “Should I sell it?” It hurt to say, but I wasn’t going to use it again.

“We’ll need it for camping and riding. Betty loves horses. I might box up some of your circus gear, if you don’t mind.” Jim’s eyes were bright.

“Of course not. Don’t wear that spandex. It’s tight in the crotch.” I found some leftover pancakes, and Lucky and I finished them off. Jim got the phone when it rang, and I nearly dropped it from surprise when he handed it to me. “Hello?”

“Hawkeye, Nick Fury.”

Lucky tilted his head and whined.

“Okay,” I said. “Did you want to talk to Lucky?”

“No, and that name is ridiculous.” Fury paused. “I’m sending a quinjet tonight to pick the two of you up. Coulson has the confirmation code. Only board if he okays it. Are you ready to join Shield?”

I looked at Jim, and he met my eyes before nodding. I looked down at Lucky. “I’m ready.”

“Good. We need you.” He hung up on me, and I stared at the old-style receiver for a long minute.

“I can do this,” I said, believing it for the first time.

“You’re ready to fly,” Jim said. “Just remember to fly home on holidays.”

“I will.” I took the phone back to its cradle. “You’ll be okay?” I could tell by the look on his face that he would be. I grinned. “Grocery bill will go down.”

“Unless Seeker drops by.”

We laughed, and Lucky head-butted my leg so I’d pet him. “We have today, Lucky, let’s go find as much trouble as possible.”

“No jumping off the roof,” Jim said.

“No promises,” I said, and Lucky and I beat it out the back door. For the first time, ever, it felt good to be me: Clint Barton, Hawkeye, thunderbird, Irish, Wishram, and Yakama, oh, and werewolf lover. The world was just barely big enough to hold me.

*********

The end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who commented, encouraging me, telling me about peacocks, helping fix typos and making sure I kept on the straight and narrow. I had so much fun, reminding me of the good old days on LiveJournal. I did some things I'd never done with words before, and I thank you.


	46. Deleted Scene

“Sitwell, we’ve been reasonable, but I’m out of patience,” Fury ground out the words.

Sitwell swallowed hard. “I tell you. I had nothing to do with it. Ward told me he wanted to mate with Coulson. I encouraged him, that’s all. I’m being set up. I’m loyal to you!”

Fury could smell the lies, but his sense of smell wasn’t admissible to the World Security Council. “Just remember, I gave you a chance.” He got up and opened the door. “Let me know when you’re ready to talk.”

There was a long pause after Fury left the room, door still wide open, and Sitwell fidgeted, wiping the sweat off his palms onto his trousers.

Lucky bounded into the room with Hawkeye perched, wings half-open, on a special harness that he gripped in his talons. Hawkeye screamed and snapped his beak, launching himself.

“I’ll talk! For god’s sake! I’ll talk! FURY!”


End file.
